I sat in my inn room, staring at the ceiling as night fell over Greyford.
The room was small but clean, a single bed, a washbasin, a narrow window overlooking the street below where lamplight cast pools of orange across wet cobblestones.
The sounds of the town settling in for the evening filtered through.
I sighed, running my hand over my face.
The conversation with Victor had gone... better than expected, actually.
I'd shown him the fake Academy credentials Gerald had somehow slipped into my pocket along with the vial, official-looking enough to be convincing, fake enough to justify my story.
Victor had examined it with the practiced eye of someone who'd dealt with fraudulent documents before, his expression darkening as he realized the implications.
