The flickering candlelight barely reached the corners of the ancient library, but that was just how Mathias Shaw preferred it—shadows meant safety, silence meant survival. He stood near a window, one hand resting on the hilt of his dagger, the other casually flipping through a report written in ciphered Common. His eyes scanned the page with grim precision, expression unreadable save for the furrow between his brows.

Outside, the rain tapped a quiet rhythm on the stained-glass panes, muffling the occasional clank of armor from the guards on patrol. Shaw’s cloak hung damp from his shoulders, the hood pulled back to reveal his ginger hair and sharp, calculating gaze. The faint scent of smoke and wet parchment lingered in the air.

He didn’t look up when he spoke—he didn’t have to.

“You’re late.”

A pause.

“I assume you weren’t followed… unless you wanted to bring trouble to my doorstep.” Shaw's voice was low, edged with quiet authority, the kind that didn’t need to raise volume to carry weight.