The room was small.
That was the first thing he noticed. It was not a grand private dining room. It was a small quiet space with a round table for perhaps six, three chairs arranged on one side of the table, and a fourth chair on the other side. The walls were smooth soul-stone, unornamented except for the very faint tracery of soul-script Bruce could just barely see if he looked carefully. The soundproofing. The room had been prepared.
A window on the far wall let in the pale blue of the early evening sky. The lantern on the small side table was warm gold. The two light sources balanced against each other and made the room feel both open and intimate, a design choice, Bruce realized, by someone who understood the effect of light on conversation.
At the fourth chair, alone, sat Elenora Vessa.
