The morning came too soon.
He woke to the sound of the door opening. The dream still clung to him, fragments of dark water and a hand reaching from a void. He blinked against the grey light filtering through the curtains. The beast stirred against his thigh, a low growl rumbling in its chest.
Lysander walked in. He held a cup of tea in each hand. Steam rose in lazy curls, carrying the scent of honey and something floral. The beast hissed. Twist's neck stretched toward the door, his golden eyes fixed on the intruder. Iron rolled onto his back, all four hooves in the air, and continued snoring. The sound was a low, rhythmic rumble, like a tiny earthquake.
"The twins you hired are in the workshop," Lysander said. "They've been there since dawn. They are anxious."
