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There is no subtlety or grace in the way that Bly bashes in the door to Naalnish's luxury home, but there's something to be said for getting the job done as quickly as possible. The house is dark, its lamps unlit, the faint smell of artificial perfumes in the air.

Your nose wrinkles at the stench that the assembly-wolf had hoped to cover by such obvious means—the house reeks of death. Floorboards squeak under your feet, and you wince, forgetting for a moment that Naalnish should be out for the remainder of the evening, attending a private party for Haven's upper crust of lawmakers. Kings among slaves, but slaves nonetheless.

Bly has been planning this break-in for over a week now, ever since Jolon came to her with disturbing news he overheard from a pacification squad he was shadowing. If the intelligence was to be believed, Naalnish's house has been used on more than one occasion to imprison and question those found plotting against the military's occupation. The humans' most recent victim is apparently a prime suspect in last month's bombing—the event that brought the pacification squads into Haven.

Bly sniffs the air and waves you on to a small door, opens it, and begins a harrowing descent into a cramped basement passage. Once the door is closed behind her, Bly switches on her flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom as you reach the landing. The fetid air nearly suffocates you, and combined with the utter blackness pushing in from all angles to smother the only source of light, it has your instincts crawling to flee this horrible place.

A dry whine escapes Bly's throat, and you know she's feeling the same. "Jolon was right," she says, her words barely audible in the oppressive murk. "Murder is no stranger to these walls."