Veils Of Intrigue

Dana stood at the upper gallery window of House Salvarose, the glow of distant lanterns reflecting in the wide panes. Beyond the estate walls, Sveethlad's shadows sprawled like a sickly beast—ashen smoke curling from chimneys, muffled riots rumored in the lower wards, and the constant stench of rot wafting up from below. Even here, on pristine marble floors, the dread of a city in slow collapse hung in the air. She felt it through Jennersen's borrowed senses: a clawing tension behind every polite greeting, as though any moment might bring catastrophe.