CHAPTER 76: WHAT DAMON KNOWS
Damon's POV
I had met Carver Aldis twice.
The first time was at my father's table — I was nineteen, newly acknowledged as heir, still learning the particular discipline of sitting through Council dinners without letting what I actually thought show on my face. Aldis had been newly appointed then, the Eastern Region seat still warm from the previous occupant who had died quietly of old age, the kind of death that required no investigation and left no questions.
I had noticed him the way you notice someone who is performing relaxation rather than feeling it. The careful ease, the measured warmth, the particular quality of attention that looks like genuine interest and is actually assessment. He had spent the dinner asking questions of everyone around the table — gentle questions, the kind that felt like conversation and functioned as intelligence gathering.
I had filed him away as someone worth watching.
