The heavy velvet curtains in Lord Evan's study were drawn against the fading afternoon light, casting the room in a warm, intimate glow provided by several strategically placed oil lamps.
Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with leather-bound volumes arranged with meticulous care. On the large mahogany desk, however, a semblance of order fought a losing battle against necessity. Maps were partially unrolled, stacks of documents tied with ribbon sat beside scattered notes, and an empty teacup rested near a silver letter opener.
Evan stood by the window, momentarily pulling back the edge of a curtain to peer into the darkening street below. He let the fabric fall back into place, turning as the study door opened softly. Brook entered, closing the door quietly behind him. He moved with his usual quiet efficiency, his dark attire immaculate, his face composed and unreadable. He stopped a respectful distance from the desk and bowed his head.
