Lirael's POV

I slammed into Raphael’s office after the meeting like a bull in a china shop. The mahogany door swung open with a bang, startling the receptionist, who jumped and sent a flurry of papers scattering across the floor. I ignored her apologies, my gaze fixed on the picture of infuriating calm that was my brother Raphael. He was sprawled back in his plush leather chair, feet propped up on the pristine white desk as he talked animatedly into the phone. Back on Friday night, he’d ...