The study was dimly lit despite the afternoon hour, heavy curtains drawn against daylight. Shadows pooled in the corners, making the spacious room feel smaller, more confining.
Selene sat rigidly upright at her desk, her posture perfect despite obvious exhaustion.
She wore a formal gown, deep emerald that complemented her coloring but hung slightly loose on a frame that had lost weight over recent weeks.
Her black hair was pulled back in severe style that emphasized features grown gaunt. Dark circles shadowed her green eyes, evidence of too many sleepless nights, too many hours spent searching, planning, hoping against evidence that hope was futile.
Before her on the desk were documents. Reports. Intelligence gathered from dozens of sources, all saying the same thing in different words:
Nothing. No leads. No trace. No answers.
