Three weeks after the council's decision, on a grey September morning that couldn't quite decide whether it wanted to rain, the streets of the Noble District were relatively quiet.
It was the kind of morning that kept people indoors—not dramatically unpleasant enough to inspire comment, but uncomfortable enough that those without urgent business preferred to remain inside with tea and newspapers. The gas lamps that lined the boulevard were still burning despite the hour, the murky light failing to fully penetrate the overcast sky.
The two women walked along the pavement, their measured pace unable to conceal the urgency beneath it.
They walked at a pace that was just short of a run, their posture controlled but their eyes in constant motion - checking doorways, windows, and the shadowed spaces between buildings. Their faces were concealed beneath wide-brimmed hats pulled low, and their cloaks were dark and nondescript, the kind of clothing designed to make the wearer anonymous.
