Kaelon's POV

The antique clock on the wall ticked louder than usual, each second dragging its heels like it was in on some twisted joke.

I sat behind my desk, elbows braced on the armrests of the leather chair, my fingers drumming a slow, erratic rhythm on the polished mahogany surface.

She’d been up there too long.

The room was quiet except for the occasional pop of the fire in the hearth and the whisper of the wind nudging the tall ...