"It's an observation," Lucien replied, his back still turned to them. He stared out into the pitch-black void of the cliffside, his reflection ghostly against the glass. "The estate is not as empty as you believe. And some debts, once incurred, do not simply vanish because you move to the coast."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Outside, the wind rattled the window frame, a thin, high-pitched whistle that seemed to mock the stillness in the cottage. The fire popped, a spark spitting out onto the stone hearth, but neither man moved. Grayson's posture had shifted; he was no longer the man leaning against the counter. He was the demon prince, his shoulders broadening, his entire body poised for a strike.
