Fenwick's house stood above a chandler's shop on one of Calderport's older streets, where the harbor road gradually became the market district without either side fully claiming it.
The entrance wasn't inside the building.
A narrow wooden staircase climbed the outside wall to a second-floor landing.
Anyone coming.
Anyone leaving.
Everyone could see.
Liora noticed that immediately.
Deliberate.
A scholar who had spent decades studying suppressed knowledge probably preferred knowing exactly who visited him.
She climbed the stairs and knocked twice.
There was a pause.
Not a long one.
Just enough time for someone to look through the peephole.
The door opened.
The man standing before her was older than she'd imagined, somewhere in his late sixties. He was lean, almost gaunt, with the kind of thinness that suggested life had slowly taken things from him over many years. His gray hair had surrendered completely, but his eyes remained startlingly sharp.
