The office smelled faintly of ink and polished wood. Ledgers were stacked neatly along one wall, a small shrine of order meant to impress.
The manager hovered near his desk, hands clasped too tightly, eyes flicking between me and Maribel as if gauging which of us was more dangerous.
I let the silence stretch.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. "May I ask… what kind of information you are seeking, Your Highness?"
"Information about a woman," I said evenly. "An older woman who sells jewelry."
[Host seriously old woman that sells jewellery? You couldn't even give how she looked like.]
Its not my fault, that was 4 weeks ago, did you really think I'd remember how she looked like.
But I do know her eyes looked calm and as if she could see my soul.
[Eerie. Nice.]
His brows knit together at once. "That will be… difficult."
"Oh?" I tilted my head slightly. "Why is that?"
He gestured helplessly. "Many women sell jewelry. Old, young, permanent shops, traveling stalls—"
