CASSIAN
The study was silent, save for the rhythmic, distant ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. Sunlight slanted across the room, illuminating dust motes that danced in the heavy, still air. Louis Durant sat perfectly still, the steam from his tea curling upward like a ghost.
"Under one condition, of course," he said.
I nodded slightly, the movement sending a dull throb of pain through my temples. My professional mask felt heavy, but I kept it in place. "Of course," I replied, my voice sandpaper-rough but steady. "State your condition."
Durant leaned back into the plush leather of his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He looked like a man who had already won the game before I'd even arrived at the table. "I want you to oversee the transition personally."
I frowned, the headache intensifying. "Oversee it?"
