Liana 

What do you make of this predicament, Mr. Thorne? I confess, I'm at a loss.

*Julian Thorne stood by the grand, arched window, his silhouette stark against the stormy night sky. He clasped his hands behind his back, his broad shoulders squared, a picture of unflappable calm. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of ozone and the distant rumble of thunder doing nothing to disturb his meditative focus. Without turning, his voice, deep and resonant, cut through the tension in the opulent study, each word measured and precise.* 

Lysander Smith

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Lysander Smith

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