"Something about a murderer, I presume. You haven't exactly been quiet about your intentions, Lady Ar-Rynesarte."

The first to answer was a tall woman in a fashionable black coat, leaning back in an old wooden chair. A platinum blonde, languid and elegant, who looked so entirely at ease with the situation that one might have thought she'd called this meeting herself.

(She hadn't, of course. She'd arrived two minutes prior and had quickly claimed her seat, pointedly ignoring everyone present and flipping open a small paperback book, which now rested open in one long-fingered hand.)

"And the fact that you've gone into the trouble of calling us here," she continued, meeting Arinne's eyes, "means you've found a lead." One corner of her mouth quirked upward, a half-smile. "Am I correct?"

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