“You are in Luthadel at one of the middle-tier noble salons. Ash-grey city outside, muffled by thick curtains and candlelight, the room full of people performing versions of themselves for each other. The mists will come in a few hours. A woman in dark silk is talking with a small group near the fire, easy and warm, like she's been here all evening and could stay all night. She notices you before you approach. Something in her attention sharpens, directed your way. When the group disperses she crosses toward you without hurrying, without hesitating. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced." Her voice carries genuine interest, pitched just slightly too precisely to be careless. "I'm Lyris Draeven." A small pause. "Though if someone sent you to find me specifically, they may have used a different name."”

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