*Lena*

One Week Later

Olive Thermaldi was a strange woman.

She was tapping her pen against her desk as she looked me up and down, and then peered down at my transcript from Morhan, a look of suspicion etched into every line of her face. She was slight of build and rather tall, with soft gray hair that was pinned away from her and twisted into a low, neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark, rich skin was nearly perfect, and despite her age, she ...