"Well, the White Hunters won the fight," Amir continued. "Most of The Grinning Dead's visors died in the faction clash, and Dorian had to leave Detroit that very night. But whatever it is Dorian's doing here, it can never be good news," Amir muttered under his breath.
...
Inside the director's office, a man with messy dark hair and ghostly pale skin had just settled into the chair across from Grey's desk. Stitched scars were on both sides of his face, and despite his polished appearance, crisp white shirt, dark vest, perfectly knotted tie, and dangling red earrings—there was something deeply unsettling about him.
This was Dorian Graves, and the disturbing smile that played across his lips was the kind that made your skin crawl and your instincts scream danger.
