Chapter Fifty– Nine:
Before the swarm of leathery wings descended upon the neon-soaked roof of the Golden Empire, and before the cold scent of scotch alerted the hunters to a presence that shouldn't have been there, a silent conversation was held in the dark. It took place in a chamber where the air was stagnant and cold, tucked away in a realm far removed from the petty concerns of the human world.
Klaus sat upon a chair that was less a piece of furniture and more a throne of solidified malice. It was a high-backed masterpiece of obsidian and crimson velvet, designed to make anyone sitting in it look like a god and anyone standing before it look like a speck of dust. Klaus leaned back, his long, pale fingers steepled in front of his face, his bored, predatory eyes tracing the silhouette of the man kneeling on the floor.
