Not even noon, and the city was already warm. The armor didn’t help. As Artonax surveyed the look and smell of the crowd waiting for papers, he wished he was back in the field, where problems could be dealt with by sword or torch. But he had to insult their fool of a Signifier, and the damn incompetent had him transferred to the Twilight City. Everyone knew Westcrown was dying, but no one wanted to admit it.
Well, one thing was sure. Even the Asmodean Disciplines said so. Pain flowed downwards. Artonax smiled as he thought of the people he would make miserable today.