The Lullaby of Wolfbane
Her hands are clean, her clothes plain, but her scent is expensive, oils that cost coin and knowledge.
Sable.
She looks at Nate first, assessing him like a purchase.
“Market’s closing,” she says flatly.
Nate dips his head with controlled ease. “Dawn bleeds first.”
Her eyes sharpen.
“And night follows,” she answers, gaze flicking briefly to me, then to Adrian. “You’re late.”
“We’re fast,” Nate says. “Not late.”
Sable’s mouth twitches like she’s entertained despite herself. “You have a seal?”
Nate produces the sliver of wax, Rowan’s K, wrapped in cloth. He doesn’t hand it over. He holds it just out of her reach.
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