Zephyra’s POV

It was Monday, and I sat on the sleek yet uncomfortable leather couch outside Lirael’s office, trying not to fidget. My heart hammered against my ribs, and nervous sweat dampened my skin. Across the room, Lirael’s PA—a young guy who introduced himself as Samson—kept glancing my way. I wondered if he could tell just how jittery I was.

He picked up his phone, glanced over at me, said something, then hung up. “You can go in, Miss Zane.”

I smiled, smoothing down my gray ...