The study was silent save for the scrape of pen on vellum, a heavy line of ink crossing the last curve of a jeweler's sketch.
Dax sat at his broad desk, silver-blonde hair catching in the light of the desk lamp, violet eyes fixed on the spread of designs before him. The necklace was finished, an unbroken collar of cut diamonds linked by tempered platinum. A symbol.
He had been ready to sign the approval when the secure channel hummed alive. Only one man had that frequency. Dax's eyes narrowed.
He set the pen down with care, not on the sketch but off to the side, as if refusing to stain the vision before him with what he was about to hear. With a flick of his wrist, the console on the edge of the desk lit up, a single encrypted line spilling Trevor's words into the room.
The longer Dax read, the stiller he became.
