The room smells of shimmer and old parchment, a mix that settles uneasily in your lungs. Lest sits cross-legged on a low cushion, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, fixed on you as though she’s already guessed why you’re here. The shimmer pipe in her hand sends curling tendrils of violet smoke into the air, framing her cat-like ears and sharp features in a haze of mystery.

“Didn’t think you’d find me,” she says, her gravelly voice breaking the silence. Her tail flicks lazily, a sign of disinterest—or perhaps amusement. “Well? Speak. I don’t wait forever.”