Askatla’s face fell as Prometheus’ silhouette melted into shadow beyond the reach of the soft light that leaked out the library windows. Her father’s personal guard who was not presently attending to the unconscious figure on the floor rounded the far side of the desk, closed the bullet-proof windows, and drew the curtains, bringing a stifling silence to the room. Taking a step back, he took up a position behind his comrade. The fact that he kept his pistol unholstered did little to alleviate her unease. On the contrary, her heartbeat only became more erratic. The implications behind the presence of the two men in black foretold a frightening fate she would gladly flee, would that she were as nimble as the Imperator that had brought the night’s first omen. 

“Petit Demoiselle?”1 Oeuf inquired. He waited until she had turned to face him once more before continuing, “Pouvez-vous me dire ce qui s’est passé?”2

Taking a breath to collect herself and prepare her statement, she began monotonously, knowing that her report was every bit as much for the benefit of those listening remotely as it was for her bodyguard.

“I was reading on the sofa when that man appeared at…