Draven's Point Of View
"Let me see that," Azriel said, his voice slicing through the tension as he scraped his chair back. Without waiting for permission, he rose, his massive frame casting shadows across the mahogany table as he leaned over the documents. The scent of aged leather and cigar smoke clung to him - a reminder of the old-world power he embodied.
Lucian withdrew his silver lighter from his pocket with a sharp click and stepped closer, the flame briefly illuminating the hard angles of his face. For the next five minutes, silence descended upon the room, broken only by our measured breathing and the whisper of turning pages.
