Five Days Later - The Black Market District
The alchemist's shop smelled like sulfur and regret. Hidden in the capital's underbelly, marked only by a rusted copper sign. The kind of place nobles pretended didn't exist while using its services regularly.
Draven entered alone. Hood up. Face shadowed.
The proprietor looked up from his workbench. Old man. Missing teeth. Hands stained permanent black from decades of mixing compounds.
"We're closed," he rasped.
Draven set a gold coin on the counter. Then another. Then five more.
The old man's eyes widened. "Maybe not that closed. What do you need?"
"Information. Not product."
"Information costs more than product."
Draven added ten more gold coins. "A month ago. Someone came here. Bought concentrated nightshade extract. Purple tint. High potency. You remember?"
The alchemist's expression shifted. Cautious now. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Depends on who's asking."
