"Who is she?" Azael asked.
Lucas was quiet for a moment. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small crystal device. Smooth and flat, fitting neatly in the palm of his hand. He pressed a careful thread of mana into it.
A holographic screen bloomed open above it, soft and luminous in the night air.
Azael looked at the image.
He went quiet.
The woman in the photograph was there. Ther was no other word for it. She was stunning. Her hair was long and straight, white as fresh snow, falling past her shoulders in a clean, unbroken line.
Her skin was a deep, warm dark tan — rich and flawless, without mark or blemish, the kind of complexion that looked like it had been painted deliberately. Her face carried a quiet maturity to it, elegant and composed, the kind of beauty that didn't ask for attention but received it regardless.
