(Updates everyday)
Power demands what it's owed, and souls are its favorite currency.
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When museum curator, Lena Goodwin, receives an anonymous package containing damning evidence of a mistake she thought she buried years ago, her carefully built...
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Hugh's place of business was a quaint, off-the-radar office tucked between an old bookstore and outlandish tailor shop. It was the kind of building no one noticed. The street was quiet, the office unmarked. It was easy to miss unless you were looking for it.
Lena followed Hugh inside. Shelves were lined with dusty books and artifacts, the ones he still had, were wrapped in cloth. There was a cluttered desk towards the back where all of his notes were sprawled in an organized mess.
Sentimentality was high-risk, so there were no photographs, no trinkets or decorations. Nothing of the sort that hinted at who he was beyond his work.
Just like Raven's Perch, the office was a shield. A necessary front to protect everything and everyone that truly mattered to him.
Even then, the interior was cramped and sparse, limiting any exposure to all aspects of his life, including the business portion. He had been visited by the Nightgaurd more times than he cared to admit. They were just doing their job, detecting and trying to prevent crime, but it was easy to evade them. Hugh had learned early on, and over the years, he had gotten quite good at it, which wasn't exactly something to be proud of, but it was better than the alternative - locked behind impenetrable enchantments.
Every object in his office had a purpose - to allude he was like every other business owner in Eden. When in fact, he was not.
Hugh gestured for Lena to sit in the worn-out leather chair across from his desk, then took a seat behind it.
"Let's talk about what happened last night," he finally spoke.
He and Lena hadn't conversed the entire walk there, not that it was all that far from Raven's Perch. Maybe about a whole eight minutes. But, the discussion they were about to have wasn't meant to be casual.
There was a lot for Hugh to relay, and he would rather not be repetitive.
Lena tensed. "You mean the part where you didn't warn me?"
"You handled it, didn't you?"
She crossed her arms, frustrated by his dismissiveness. "Is that what I was doing? Loitering in the shadows?"
His cold gaze met hers. "You observed, which is what you were there for. Not all that difficult to do."
In front of him, Lena shifted in her seat. Her irritation was evident, sparking off of her like static electricity. She was wound tight, sitting in a chair as though she wanted to either fight or leave. There was no in-between.
Hugh noted the way her jaw clenched every time he said something she didn't approve of.
She scoffed, the sound short and sharp. Just like that temper of hers. "That's not the point. You could've warned me."
