Millbrook Square — Twenty Minutes Later
Viktor removed his cloak.
The evening air of the market square was cool enough to make the removal notable — the specific chill of a northern border autumn finding the gaps in a tunic — but he did it with the ease of someone who had decided that the cloak had served its purpose and was now an unnecessary layer.
He folded it over his arm.
He rolled his left shoulder — the joint making the specific sound of a shoulder that had been held in the same position for too long while doing something that required stillness, the pop of it settling back into comfortable configuration.
He looked at the square.
