Impish eyes glance back at Abraham, a ghost of a smile on Falke’s lips. “To see if she is as neutral as she says she is.” He remembers something about the Warden looking for a member of the Order a year or so ago. And he remembers that none of them had been inclined to show their faces - not to so bold and audacious a request.
Times have changed a bit, though. Falke resumes heading toward the Citadel library, a decently-sized building with warm lamps in the windows. It’s bound to be cozier in there than out here and with a suppressed shiver, the Fixer mounts the stairs to the doors. “This isn’t your usual assignment, is it?” he asks, concealing mild amusement at his joy in coming to the library versus the soldier’s stoic and broody grimness. Pulling one of the handles, he heaves it open and steps inside.
