"I'm getting sick of this fucking place."
Aren was sitting beside the window, staring at the street outside with an expression of complete dissatisfaction.
The morning had barely begun, yet people were already moving through the eastern residential quarter. Merchants were opening their shops, workers were carrying tools toward the construction sites, and somewhere nearby, a woman was arguing with a deliveryman over a missing sack of flour.
It was all painfully ordinary.
Aren had spent most of the previous evening looking for something suspicious about Bastos. Secret patrols, powerful magical defenses, hidden troops, anything that might explain why the newest apostle of Necros had chosen to make this place his home.
Instead, he'd found a bakery, several farms, and a particularly annoying rooster that had made it its life's mission to remind everyone that it exists.
He was beginning to consider killing the damn thing.
