The Summons
The city bled rain.
Every drop against the carriage window was a heartbeat Serena Maxwell didn't want to count.
She'd told herself she wouldn't come — that she owed him nothing, that she'd already said goodbye.
But Christopher's letter still found her hand.
His words, even unwritten, still found her pulse.
She came because she needed to see him — not as the Minister, not as the man who held her fate in elegant fingers — but as the man who once made her believe ruin could be gentle.
The Minister
He stood by the window as always, still and immaculate, the city reflected in the polished glass behind him.
When he turned, the lamplight carved his face into light and shadow — power and grace and danger, perfectly contained.
"Serena," he said.
"Minister," she replied.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Still formal?"
"I thought it fitting."
He walked toward her, quiet and deliberate. "You came because I asked."
