Alec.
The mission is swift, easy even. I arrive at the pack, a hood shrouded over my head as I make my way into the bar. My men scattered outside, occasionally throwing glances into the bar to ensure everything or running smoothly. I have a few spots to check out to find any witch who will be willing to work with us.
My cloak weighs heavy, the pockets jingling.
I tap the contrapment, the gold clinking as it slams against each other. I weave into the bar and mount the stool, pull out a large gold coin and place it gently on the table before taking a sip of drink in front of me.
“Right this way,” the barista shoves the gold coin into her pocket before moving between the shambles of beads serving as a curtain. I cast one quick look at the relatively dull bar before making my way into the
