Then Jonathan's gaze caught on Victor.
And everything stopped.
He froze. Just long enough for the betrayal of his own assumptions to register. Of the certainty that this meeting would be private. Controlled. Pity-filled.
Instead, Victor Numen, fully upright, coffee cup in hand, dressed in black slacks and a crisp designer shirt open at the collar, turned slightly in his seat at the breakfast table and raised an eyebrow with the faint amusement of someone used to being greeted with awe or terror, never anything in between.
"Jonathan," he drawled, voice low and casual, as though they'd spoken just last week. "How good of you to come uninvited."
Jonathan's mouth opened. Then closed. His fingers twitched at his side like he wasn't sure whether to bow or run.
"I… was under the impression you were in Vienna," he managed, trying to summon the voice he used in boardrooms. "Samael said you were…"
