Chapter 7: The Art[2]
The moon hung low over a quiet field behind the city infirmary. Old brick walls and a rusted maintenance shed surrounded a small stretch of grass and dirt.
It smelled of disinfectant and rain-soaked earth. Familiar. Almost too familiar.
No one came here at night.
No lights.
No footsteps.
No eyes.
"Perfect."
I stood in the middle of the field with sleeves rolled up with calm and measured breath. Everything about this moment was planned—right down to the silence.
"Hah..."
The golden grimoire floated at my side, humming gently with restrained power.
Nyx lounged on a weathered bench nearby, grooming his paw with all the urgency of a retired war general who had seen too much and now preferred naps over battles.