Naomi's fingers traced the rough stone walls of the temple's lower corridors, her bare feet silent against the cold volcanic rock. The servant's robes hung loose on her frame, gray fabric that made her invisible among the temple's countless attendants. She'd learned to move like Nessa—shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast, the posture of someone accustomed to being overlooked.
The records chamber lay ahead, guarded by a single acolyte seated at a wooden desk. Brother Kael, barely eighteen, his brown hair cropped short in the temple style. Naomi had watched him for three days, noting the way his eyes lingered on the gold trim of passing nobles' robes, how he counted coins when he thought no one was looking.
Everyone had a price. The trick was finding the right currency.
