The silence of Osiris Lawless' office was broken by the loud knock on his door.
The head of the Investigation Authority sat behind his desk, quill scratching lazily over the parchment before him, the faint glow of wards lighting the room in pale orange.
His assistant slipped in quietly, bowing.
"My lord," the man said carefully, "you have a visitor."
Osiris did not look up. "I am not to be disturbed."
The assistant hesitated. "He bears official documents from the Royal Academy of Magic."
That made Osiris pause. Slowly, he set down his quill and leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Very well. Let him in."
The door opened wider, and in stepped a man Osiris recognized.
Tall, with broad shoulders, and the scars across his face that could tell a riveting story.
Professor Oliver. Combat Instructor of the Royal Academy. A man well known at the warfront.
