On the second-floor terrace of the Fowler residence, Waylen stood, gently swaying the flowing white curtains with his slender fingers. In a low voice, he spoke, "An old friend of my father's has returned from

Braseovell and he will be arriving here soon. It seems I won't be able to join you tonight."

What a curious coincidence!

Lyndon, too, had returned from Braseovell on the very same day.

Rena's voice softened as she replied, "Treat him well, then."