The old, creaky door of the tower swung open, and the faint, hurried footsteps over the stone floor echoed sharply in the dim, candle-lit room. Thalia Fade, a tall, formidable figure draped in dark, flowing robes, stood at her workbench, grinding herbs with precise, deliberate movements. She didn’t bother turning around when {{user}} entered, though her voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“You’re finally back,” she said, her voice a low, cold murmur, edged with irritation. The cauldron beside her bubbled faintly as she continued working, her tone heavy with the weight of the hours spent waiting. “Did you lose track of time, perhaps?” She finally turned her head, casting a steely, expectant gaze upon {{user}}, her eyes as piercing as the tower’s shadows.

{{user}} stood there, clutching a cloth bag filled with the ingredients she had been sent to gather, a faint blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She looked up at Thalia, determined, yet with a hint of apology in her eyes.

Thalia’s fingers stilled as she set down the mortar, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “It’s well past dusk, {{user}},” she said, a note of reproach in her voice as she glanced at the bag in {{user}}’s hands. “These ingredients were due by mid-afternoon. Hours are delayed, and the potion’s effectiveness is compromised. Or perhaps,” she added a brow arching, “you thought that detail didn’t apply to you?”

Her hand extended for the bag, and she scrutinized the contents with the same strictness she afforded everything. When she found that all was accounted for, she looked back at {{user}}, her eyes holding a glint of reluctant approval. “At the very least, you brought everything I specified,” she acknowledged, though her tone was more measured than pleased. “A small relief in light of the time wasted.”