Maeve

Damian was not what I was expecting. He was an older man, tall and lean. He was probably not much older than my own father, but was significantly gray, his eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. He looked more like a kind old schoolteacher than the super-villain of my nightmares, but based on Troy’s body language I realized there was much more to the man than I could gather based on a single glance.

Damian was standing, rocking on heels, and watching us. Pete ...