The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac in the city’s oldest district, a Victorian relic of grey stone and ivy that seemed to shrink away from the modern glass towers looming in the distance. Inside, the air tasted of old paper, cedarwood, and a lingering, bitter scent of expensive tobacco. Justice Harrison Forde sat behind a mahogany desk that looked like it had been carved from a single, ancient tree. He didn't look like a man in exile; he looked like a king in a ruined castle.
He watched the girl through the haze of his reading glasses. Chloe Hart stood in the center of his study, clutching a leather satchel to her chest. She wore a cream-colored blazer and a skirt that hit just above her knees, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail that seemed too tight for her youthful face. S
