A heavy iron drill whined as Sera Thorne drove a threaded steel eye-bolt into the rosewood ceiling joist.
Wood shavings fluttered down like dry leaves. They settled onto the polished slate tiles of the tower’s ninth-floor penthouse.
Standing on an oak stepladder, Sera tested the anchor with both hands. She hung her full weight from the steel loop. The solid timber did not budge at all.
“First anchor is secure, Master Vance,” Sera called down, wiping sawdust from her forehead.
Below her, Kaelen Vance lay sprawled on a plush brocade couch. His clogs were kicked off and his straw hat tilted over his eyes.
He held a peeled persimmon in one hand. He chewed with slow, rhythmic satisfaction.
“Make sure the second loop is three inches higher,” Kaelen instructed between bites. “If the head sits level with the feet, blood pools in the skull. That ruins the morning nap.”
Sera climbed down the ladder. She pulled out her calfskin ledger and made a swift ink stroke.
