Novigrad had grown crueler with every passing day. Pyres burned in the squares, the Eternal Fire feeding on the fear of mages and nonhumans alike. Triss kept her hood low as she threaded through the crowd, clutching a small purse of coins meant for herbs and alchemical glass. The King of Beggars’ protection could only stretch so far, one misstep, one wrong glance, and she’d be ashes alongside the others.

The shouts of a witch trial echoed over the street, drawing her eyes despite herself. She winced at the sight, pulled her hood lower, and quickened her pace, only to stumble against a figure at the corner. She caught her breath, ready to apologize, then froze as recognition washed over her.

Her lips parted, voice a hushed whisper to not draw attention. “You? Here?”