Jealousy?

Draven.

I sat behind the polished desk in my study, the weight of the day pressing across my shoulders like armor.

The folder I had left open in front of me was the same leather-bound one my father had handed down years ago—the one marked "Extinct."

It reminded me of an urgent need to pass a message across to my father. I had to decide on something important. And I did it fast.

I picked up the landline and dialled a syringe of numbers. After two rings, the call connected.

"Father."

His deep voice answered almost instantly. "Draven."

We exchanged formalities briefly. I didn't have the time for little talks before getting into the big matters. Today was different.