Late afternoon, Ministry of Justice —
The rain began in a thin drizzle that darkened the paving stones and turned the air to glass. Within an hour, it had deepened into a steadier rhythm, filling the Minister's antechamber with the scent of wet stone and the soft hiss of water against windows.The sound carried through the corridors — measured, relentless — like a clock that refused to stop ticking.
Charlton Daniel, Duke of Suffox, sat waiting again. Not for the first time.He told himself he was accustomed to the ritual: the Cross brand of arrogance, the deliberate delays, the well-practiced air of superiority. But patience was a discipline, and even his had edges. Christopher knew precisely how to test them.
