The days were ink on wet tissue, bleeding into each other in a haze. Cass drifted through the halls of the mansion like a ghost, her presence barely acknowledged. Jamee had locked himself in his room, and Uriel was constantly in his office, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders to whoever was on the other end. If he wasn't on a call, he was huddled with Arian or one of his men, his voice low and unyielding.