Chapter 13
Lyra
There was an oppressive silence in the room as I sat in the guest chair across from Roman’s massive mahogany desk. He occupied the head seat with the same commanding presence he carried everywhere, his pale blue eyes focused on a set of papers he held. His glasses—the thin, frameless kind—rested on the bridge of his nose, giving him a sharp, almost Clark Kent-esque vibe. It suited him in a way I couldn’t deny, though I secretly thought he was more striking without them.
I fidgeted nervously, my gaze wandering around the room. Roman’s study was immaculate, almost unnervingly so. Every single item had its place: leather-bound books lined the shelves with military precision, a gleaming antique globe sat in one corner, and not a speck of dust dared to settle on the polished
