The air hung thick in the chamber, steeped with incense and edged by a sharper note that lingered like a warning at the back of the throat. Muted gold from the hearth's fire spilled across the stone floor, shadows breaking and reforming in fractured lengths. From the chandelier above, candles burned with a stubborn brightness, their flames bending in the faint wind that slipped through as Elowyn entered.
Vincenzo sat at the head of the long table that dominated the chamber, its surface cluttered with scrolls and glass vials, some half-covered beneath a cloth. The scent of metal and ink lingered, sharp against the undercurrent of wax and smoke that thickened each breath.
