The crimson needle floating inside the drop of blackened blood spun twice, then pointed firmly toward the cold flagstones beneath the workbench.
Elara did not blink. She leaned closer to the stone slab, holding the magnifying lens steady between her fingertips. Her dark traveling cloak lay draped over a wooden stool, leaving her in a close-fitting tunic of fine black wool laced tightly across her chest. Her sleeves were pushed above her elbows, exposing pale, steady forearms free of jewelry. Her dark hair was coiled into a low, neat knot at the base of her neck, kept in place with two simple wooden pins so that not a single loose strand blocked her vision.
Beside the stone archway, Beta Vance stood guard. He wore his heavy boiled leather vest, dark with ancient water stains from the drai
