The library was carved out of stillness as usual.

Rows of leather-bound books stretched endlessly under the dusky light. The air smelled of dust, pine resin, and something faintly metallic - like the scent before rain.

Elowyn stepped in beside Azpen, every nerve wired tight.

At the far end of the long table, Baron Ortega sat - sleeves rolled to his elbows, head slightly bowed over a spread of old maps he ticked here and there.

His coat was discarded on a chair, and the lamplight ...