She casually tilted her head toward the corner table, where three people sat hunched over mugs of ale. A gray-haired woman with a scar across her cheek. A thin man with ink-stained fingers. And a robust merchant whose clothes were just a touch too fine for this establishment.
"There's word from the north," the merchant was saying, his voice low but carrying. "White Ravens on the move."
"Inquisitor's not far behind," the scarred woman replied. "Three villages searched in the past week."
"Looking for the hermit?" the thin man asked.
The woman nodded. "The one who sees what the Court doesn't want seen."
"Fool should've kept his mouth shut," the merchant said. "You don't go around prophesying the Winter Court's downfall and expect to live long."
Naomi kept her face impassive, but beneath the table, she pressed her foot against Xavier's to signal he should listen.
"They say he's hiding in the old library ruins," the woman continued. "Where the Collapse happened."
