The morning sun peeped through the dirty window of the Confidant Haven, illuminating dust particles that danced like tiny ghosts in the air. Althea stood in the middle of the main room, hands on her hips, looking around with a critical gaze. The scar on her neck had healed, but the memory of the cold blade pressed against her skin was still fresh.
"We can't receive clients in a place that looks like this dusty grave," she declared, sweeping her finger over the surface of an old wooden table until her fingertip turned black. "Raven, do you know of any trustworthy cleaning service?"
Raven shook his head, his face, half-covered by the silver mask, looked serious. "The previous tenants used a cleaning service, but they always fled in terror. It's better if we clean it ourselves."
Morfida hesitantly lifted her lavish cloak. "But, Milady, only the three of us... and my magic is limited to changing forms, not cleaning."
