Malachi stood in the center of his dimly lit office, his fingers drumming on the polished mahogany desk. The room, filled with opulent furniture and thick drapes, was a personal sanctuary from the chaotic world outside.
Despite its comfort, Malachi felt a growing unease, an instinctive warning that trouble was near. His mind replayed the recent events, the losses they had suffered, and the increasing threat posed by Ezra. It was a good thing that the Count had ordered Ezra's death.
There was a knock on the door, startling him out of his thoughts. He shouldn't have been caught off guard like that. He should always be alert, even in his own domain. He listened for a heartbeat. Finding one, he quickly called up his chameleon, layering a dark brown over his eyes. "Come in." He commanded.
