Asa sagged into the office chair, and stared dully at the silver jewelry box. There would never be another eyebrow raised in amusement, or lips thinned in disapproval. No bastion of an Invictus Lord to admire.

In his entire existence, Asa had only felt the pang of loss twice before; when he was Embraced, and when he had to leave the city after Straiphen. It was not a feeling he was used to. Other than his immortal beloved, Lioni Dupree had been his dearest friend. Now, all he had of her was a box of ashes and a dynasty he knew nothing of, but would honor.

The worst part, he mused, was that Lioni spent the final months of her Requiem as she did. Releasing her Childe out of frustration, and having to be the head of the Invictus, draped in titles and wet-nursing little better than neonates. He remembered her as he had met her: left to her own devices at a back table of the Asylum, dodging the headaches of being Priscus, and subtly amusing herself by foiling Quentin Jones.

She had pulled his strings, and he had danced to her tune -- but he was also quite sure she had seen past that. It was still strange to think that she, Brandon Davis, and Icarus had been so close; yet, he had barely known the other two. Her, though, he would never forget.

Lioni Dupree was gone, and there would never be another like her.

Not having his briefcase, he stood and put the silver box next to the other two on the shelf. As he placed her next to her brothers, he wondered whose hands might some day do the same for him. His eyes tightened in discomfort as tear ducts that had long ago run dry tried to consecrate his loss, and he softly kissed the cold silver before releasing it.