The air in Donin was different, thinner, wetter, like the sky never quite cleared. The streets outside the villa were stone-laid and slick with humidity, but the building itself was a fortress disguised as a manor, all dark glass and dense walls etched with old protection spells that didn't rely on ether. It was the kind of place people vanished into.
Hadeon stood in front of the tall windows, the horizon broken by the jagged edge of the lowland hills, his hands clasped behind his back. The suit he wore was perfectly tailored, sharp enough to cut, though the silver in his hair caught in the dim light like polished steel. Around him, the room pulsed with quiet activity, low conversations in accented Imperial, movement of weapons, and the unmistakable sound of sealed crates being locked into place.
Everything had gone to plan.
Almost.
