SERAPHINA’S POV
The director’s office looked nothing like I’d imagined.
For someone reputed to be a genius, a visionary, the quiet architect of the Institute’s most advanced research, I expected something grand: vaulted ceilings, ancient tomes, maybe a glowing crystal wolf statue in the corner for dramatic effect.
Instead, the office was…mundane.
A narrow hallway with polished floors. A plain wooden door with a brass nameplate. A potted fern that had seen better days.
And Lionel.
The director’s assistant was tall and sharply put-together, with neatly parted brown hair and round gold-rimmed glasses that made him look permanently judgmental.
He spotted me the moment I stepped into the entryway. His hazel eyes flicked over me with quick, appraising precision, the kind that made it clear he’d already decided exactly who—and what—I was before I’d even spoken.
“Welcome,” he said in a flat tone. “Do you have an appointment with Director Alois?”
