The alleys near the apothecary district were slick with rain, and the midnight bells had long since tolled. Philippa's cloak clung to her, heavy with water, her breath short as she ducked beneath an archway near the old stone aqueduct.
She had just left the Alchemist, the coded documents clutched beneath her arm. The information was damning. Confirming what she feared—and more.
Then she heard it.
The telltale jingle of armor.
A royal knight, lantern high, turned into the alley. He had seen movement. His voice rang out—
"Stop! Who goes there?"
Philippa turned to run—but her wet boot slipped, and her shoulder slammed into the wall with a cry. The knight was closing fast.
"By order of the crown, halt!"
She barely scrambled to her feet when a white blur descended from the rooftops above.
A gust of wind.
A crash.
The knight's lantern went flying.
