The morning air carried a faint sweetness, touched by the scent of roasted grain and the quiet hum of the awakening market. On the newly paved commercial street, twenty-two men and women stood in uneasy silence — the same thieves who had been imprisoned just days ago.
Tegen, their de facto leader, scanned the tidy rows of shops, each one gleaming with fresh paint and glass polished to perfection. The place was so clean it felt like a stage, and they — ragged, hollow-eyed, and gaunt — were the unwanted actors about to be thrust into some unknown play.
Beside him, the woman known as the Variety Witch tugged at her sleeve, lowering her voice. "That was the City Lord of Black Tortoise, wasn't it? The one who just passed by?"
Tegen's jaw tightened. "It was him," he said grimly. "Luciel."
