The office Vanir had commandeered at the Bloodhound Corps' London field station was small and overlooked the rear courtyard, which suited him. He had no interest in the view. He had interest in the quiet.
He sat with the closed hologram projector on the desk in front of him, Erzsabet's last words still sitting somewhere unpleasant in his chest.
'Millarca is there.'
He exhaled through his nose.
Of all the complications currently arranged around the Faust estate …. the recognition hearing in two days, Azazel's burn signatures across three London sites, Austin Astor's puppet-body sitting in a warded tannery basement like a loaded mechanism waiting for its trigger…. Millarca Von Karnstein was somehow the one that made his jaw tighten.
This was not because he was afraid of her.
