Golden Oak Street was quieter than usual in the early morning; even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
A dark gray metal missive tube sat on the counter in the front hall of Workshop Number Twelve.
The dark gold crest of the Justice Clan was branded on its surface, and it was cold to the touch.
When Old Finn picked up the missive tube, his withered fingers hesitated for a moment.
He turned, his steps heavy as he walked toward the courtyard.
Aidele was standing under the half-withered old Golden Oak Tree, the morning light filtering through its sparse leaves to cast a mottled shadow on her delicate face.
Hearing Old Finn's footsteps, she turned and took the missive tube from him.
The moment her fingertips touched the metal, her heart tightened slightly.
With a soft CLICK, the missive tube opened.
A dark red piece of parchment slid into her palm. The characters on it were impeccably neat, yet each one felt as cold as ice.
