The sun over Nuln was a bruised, purple eye staring down through the smog.
Zane walked down the winding path from the Mausoleum with a heavy, deliberate gait.
The Dead Weight trait made every step feel like he was driving a pile into the earth, and the gravel crunched loudly under his boots.
He felt good.
It was a strange sensation for a man who had died of stress and an aneurysm less than a week ago. He felt solid, dangerous, and inexplicably calm.
The screaming voices of the three Prime souls in his gut had settled into a low, cold hum that acted like a background radiation of power.
Wren walked beside him, counting the gold coins she had pilfered from the safe before Zane had closed it.
"We need to find Stitch," Wren said, pocketing a coin. "He's a fence, but he used to tailor f
