And then he got the call, someone sneaking around outside of the gates, someone trying to spy on his home. Who the fuck would be pulling this shit on Christmas fucking eve, he had no clue. And no one told him of what the 'spy' looked like. No one said a thing, they just adjusted the camera's to pick up the figure a little more clearly. Not a word was spoken, because truthfully? No one dared.
The man himself was silent. Completely silent as he stared at first one camera, then the next. His jaw was tight, his free hand was clenched. But his other hand? His busy one? Was stroking over and over the black feather he kept braided into his hair. And slowly, very slowly his face drained of blood, and he became pale, so pale.
"Turn them off." He spun then, graceful as ever in spite of his speed. "Turn them all off, every one of the cameras." And with that he was out of the room, out and down the hallway.
"Start a fire in my office, call the dogs in and feed them, and then get out. Merry fucking Christmas, all of you get the fuck out. Don't come back until I call you... and leave the back way, don't let - don't let her see you."
He was gone then, a ghost in black clothes, out the side door, and down the path to the delivery gate, around the corner from where spy was walking back and forth.