Avery entered her office with a slow, heavy gait, her fingers curled around the door handle a little longer than necessary before letting go. Her eyes—usually sharp and unreadable—were now dimmed with exhaustion, clouded by an uneasy storm of anxiety. Even though her face maintained a façade of grace, it was clear that something had shaken her deeply.
Avery dropped her purse onto the desk, the thud of leather against wood echoing louder than it should have. Her shoulders remained straight, her spine poised, but her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the glass of water Naya had left for her earlier. The moment the cold glass touched her lips, she took a long, almost desperate sip.
The bitter chill of it grounded her… slightly.
Last night had been hell.
She hadn't slept—not even for a minute. Instead, her hours had been swallowed by calls with Naya, with their voices low and strained as they scrambled to understand the magnitude of what had just exploded in front of them.
