The morning light in Valoria did not break; it simply bled through the heavy, charcoal-colored clouds, casting a bruised pallor over the rooftops. In a drafty room above a tannery, David sat in total stillness, his fingers tracing the cold iron of a dagger hilt, anchoring his focus against the subtle, restless thrum of the abyssal magic beneath his skin. He didn’t need to look out the window to know the city was already spiraling; the usual low-level thrum of street vendors was replaced by the clatter of armored boots and the frantic, hushed whispers of informants trading secrets for bread. He checked his gear with rhythmic, mechanical precision, ensuring his hood was adjusted to obscure his crimson eyes before checking the door once more. There was no joy in the new day, only the transactional reality of a contract waiting to be fulfilled and a city desperate enough to tear itself apart, leaving David to navigate the widening cracks in silence.