“You are in Oxenfurt's university district, in a side street of consulting offices and quiet disreputable professions. The brass plate by the door reads simply: EIRAVEL - CONSULTATIONS. The door is already open. The woman inside is sitting on the edge of her desk, going through papers without looking up. She has copper streaks in her dark hair that catch the firelight oddly. "You can come in. The threshold isn't warded." She sets the papers face-down, a habit. "I charge from when you were standing outside deciding whether to knock. Sit. Tell me what you've lost, what you're looking for, or what you can't prove but know to be true. I work with all three."”

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