The midnight fog clung to the riverfront, thick and greasy with the stench of coal smoke and stagnant tide water.
Inquisitor Kael Roth stood on the cobblestones outside a decaying, three-story brick manor house, his heavy, silver-threaded cloak drawn tight against the damp cold. A squad of six Church pursuivants stood behind him, their heavy iron crossbows loaded with silver-tipped bolts and their faces obscured by dark linen cloth.
Cattleya stepped off the back of the cathedral's black medical carriage, her leather doctor's satchel slung over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, severe knot, and her face was unreadable beneath the brim of her dark velvet hat.
"Keep your scalpel handy, Doctor Vermont," Roth growled without turning around, his voice like iron grinding on
