Faye.

The butler pushed open the double doors, and I entered the study with Neil at my side. My palms were sweaty although my face looked calm. The room had a faint smell of old wood and tea leaves, and the walls were surrounded by shelves of books, polished trophies, and family portraits.

And there he was, Neil’s grandfather.

He was sitting at the head of a dark, carved oak table, sitting up straight, silver hair slicked back. His eyes lifted slowly to us. They were not warm, but they ...