The moment Annabelle entered the room, she faltered for half a heartbeat. Only two men sat inside. No guards. No backup. Just the two of them—one familiar, one not.
"So, you are the cause of the chaos outside."
The bald man in the purple cloak spoke calmly from behind the desk, the hue of his robe subtly different from the other Acolytes.
Clark sat nearby, slouched in his chair, unbothered and visibly dazed.
Annabelle unhooked her blades and let them hang loosely at her sides. "Sad to see the other dickheads aren't here."
The base leader let out a soft chuckle. "Who were you exactly expecting?"
Annabelle shrugged. "Not exactly someone. And it's not like I'm disappointed either." She lifted a finger and pointed toward the old man by the wall. "The one I came for is here."
The Runesmith finally looked up. His eyes were sunken, sharp despite their age.
