Lysera's pace was steady but purposeful, the low heel of her boots clicking over the cobblestones as she guided the priest through the winding streets toward the plaza where High Priestess Jenna had been attacked.
The midafternoon sun angled between the tiled roofs, throwing gold over the narrow lanes, but Lysera's attention never wavered from her quiet companion.
The man was courteous, soft-spoken, and quick to offer polite nods to townsfolk who glanced their way—but she'd already felt his magic brush against her once.
That was enough to keep her on edge.
When they reached the site, Lysera paused, scanning the square the way a soldier might scan a battlefield.
The place looked deceptively calm—merchants hawking wares from colorful stalls, children darting around with strings of sugared fruit—but she remembered the blood that had stained the pale paving stones here.
"This is where it happened."
She said evenly.
