The call came at 6:47 AM on a Tuesday that had started out perfectly ordinary. Seraphina was in the middle of her morning routine—coffee strong enough to wake the dead, financial reports spread across the kitchen island like battle plans, Damon already dressed and checking his phone for overnight messages from the Tokyo office.
Normal. Peaceful. The kind of morning that made you forget that ancient bloodlines and world-ending conspiracies were apparently part of your daily reality now.
Then Marcus's voice came through the intercom, tight with something that made every hair on Seraphina's arms stand up.
"Ma'am, we have a situation. I need you and Mr. Silverstone in the security office. Now."
The word 'situation' in Marcus's vocabulary covered everything from 'minor inconvenience' to 'imminent apocalypse.' But his tone suggested this was sliding toward the latter end of that spectrum.
