The air in Leo's studio hung thick with the scent of clay and turpentine, but tonight, it was also laced with tension. Eleanor traced the lines of a charcoal sketch, her brow furrowed in concentration. The drawing was of Julian, but not the charming facade he presented to the world. This Julian had a predatory glint in his eyes, a cruel twist to his lips, the very image of the man who had orchestrated her death.