The office no longer looked like an office.
A chair lay overturned near the desk with its legs splintered. Papers were scattered across the marble floor like fallen feathers, some crushed beneath a heavy boot print, others torn clean through. The lamp on the side table flickered weakly, its shade cracked where it had struck the wall.
Maximilian stood in the center of it all, breathing hard.
His shirt hung open, hastily buttoned only halfway. The white bandages beneath were already blooming faintly red where his wound had begun to protest his temper. One hand was braced against the edge of the desk. The other had just sent a glass tumbler flying as it shattered against the far wall with a sharp, violent crack.
“Nothing,” he said in a low and shaky voice filled with fury. “You’re telling
