Lyra paced back and forth in the dimly lit corridor, hesitating outside Ronan Thorne's suite. The heavy metallic scent of liquor seeped from beneath the door, mixing with the unmistakable stench of destruction. No one had seen Kaelen's brother since the news of the attack broke, and her worry had finally overcome her reluctance to intrude on his grief.
"Ronan?" I called, knocking gently at first, then more firmly when no response came. "It's Lyra. Please open the door."
Silence.
Steeling myself, I turned the handle. To my surprise, it wasn't locked. The door swung open to reveal a scene of utter devastation.
Furniture lay overturned and shattered. Glass from broken bottles glittered across the floor like malevolent stars. And in the center of the chaos sat Ronan Thorne, his back against what remained of a sofa, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven, and his usually immaculate appearance completely disheveled.
