The air hung heavy as Solstace and Crimson rifled through the heap of folders on the table. A soft cough escaped Crimson’s lips, her breath swirling into a misty cloud in the cold, stale air.
Solstace’s hand hovered, then settled over a worn folder. His fingertips traced its frayed edges, feeling the toll of time and neglect. “Look at this,” he said. Intrigue colored his voice as he glanced at Crimson.
Crimson, her attention caught, leaned closer, her hair shifting through a spectrum of colors. “What is it? Another one of Zoltan’s secrets?” she asked, a playful challenge in her tone despite the grim surroundings.
Solstace grinned slightly, appreciating her resilience. “Could be. Or maybe just an old recipe for witch’s brew,” he teased back, lightening the mood before he pulled the folde
