The innkeeper, a plump, jovial man with a perpetually flour-dusted apron, barely glanced at his hooded figure. Jian's Mortal Veil held steady.
Inside the cramped, slightly dusty room, Jian lowered his hood, letting his crimson hair fall around his shoulders. He peeled off his robes, revealing the lean, corded musculature of his new body. He looked at his reflection in a small, tarnished bronze mirror: the sharp, predatory features, the burning crimson eyes that now seemed to hold the cold emptiness of the void. This is who you are now, he told himself, touching a finger to his cheek. No longer a victim. Only a judge.
He spent the first few days simply observing, listening. He frequented the taverns, choosing tables in dim corners, ordering cheap tea, and letting the chatter of the city w
