Candles flickered, their flames trimmed to precise heights in Sylas's private chamber. Shadows played across the walls, deepening as dusk settled over the Veiled Hand's underground sanctuary.
Soren stood with his back straight, hands at his sides, waiting as Sylas studied a yellowed parchment spread before him on the polished desk.
"A young noble," Sylas said without looking up. "House Trelaine. Minor family, but ambitious." His finger traced a line on the parchment. "He's been funneling money and informants to the Cathedral for months. Names have disappeared because of him."
Soren remained silent, watching the way candlelight caught in Sylas's green eyes as the assassin leader finally looked up.
"He's sheltered himself in a ruined manor near a scavenger hamlet." Sylas slid the parchment across the desk. "Three miles east of the Glass Wastes' edge."
