The inn’s door slams behind us and the city’s air hits my face, brisk and sharp, clearing some of the noise in my head but sharpening every sense until I feel half wild, the world prickling across my skin. Master’s hand finds my shoulder for a heartbeat, steadying me, then we’re moving.

I pick up the scent of the Sapphire Guild recruiter instantly. His cologne is all expensive spice, but under it is sweat, ink, city dust, the residue of people used to making deals, not fighting for their lives. My ears pivot, tracking every echo, every set of footsteps through the square. I catch the memory of his voice, the cadence, the way he carried himself, and it’s child’s play to follow, especially now, hyper focused, nerves sparking.

We cut through the central square again, lamps flickering off the admin hub’s stone pillars. City scribes and guild officials linger at the steps, some glancing our way, most minding their business. Master doesn’t slow, doesn’t let anyone’s gaze stick, he’s the one with somewhere to be, and anyone in our path just steps aside. The whole city feels awake, alive, but subdued beneath the surface.

North of the hub, the main road runs straight, but we veer east at the first break, the scent of the market still lingering from earlier. Stalls are shuttered now, their awnings pulled tight against the night. Behind the market, the buildings change, larger, spaced out, each one a testament to someone’s wealth or ambition, stone and glass set apart by patches of lawn and careful hedges. 

The Sapphire Guild’s banner hangs high. Their guildhall stands a little apart from the others, a curious, angular structure, less fortress than statement. The walls are a mix of stone blocks, clean lines broken by gold edged windows and trim. Skylights of heavy blue glass crown the roof, letting moonlight spill into the upper floor, and wide steps lead up to double doors of polished oak reinforced with iron.

Two lanterns burn at the entrance, casting harsh shadows along the gold painted trim. The outer walls are set with geometric patterns, almost like a puzzle or lock, and every corner is just a bit too sharp, as if built to intimidate as much as welcome. A pair of guards stand just inside the doors, each with a blue sash over practical armour.

The front steps creak a little under our weight. The air is cooler here, quieter. My heart races, caffeine surging, making my claws itch and my ears twitch, every instinct alive with the possibilities in this den of merchants and cutthroats.

Master pauses, takes it all in, his eyes flick over the design, the guards, the strange, open feel of the place. He’s reading it the way he reads every battlefield, exits, choke points, the likely location of the power behind the doors. I wait half a step behind him, tail coiling, my posture half feral, half composed.

He nods once at the guards, who open the doors with a silent efficiency, letting us step inside. I slip in at Master’s heel, eyes wide.