Hutson studied Lady Moran carefully. Though she had not spoken directly, he could sense her implication—she was offering him more than just knowledge.
A chance to purchase necromantic spells.
So, he asked, "Does Lady Moran have any recommendations?"
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and murmured, "You've encountered wraiths before, haven't you?"
Hutson's breath hitched. She could tell?
"Yes," he admitted after a brief pause. "But that was a long time ago. I'm surprised you can still sense it."
It had been more than a year since the incident in Creekvale Town.
Moran chuckled softly. "The taint of a wraith isn't something you can wash off with a simple bath. To me, that stench is as fresh as if you had just stepped in a pile of dog shit."
Her laughter carried a strange, almost musical quality—beautiful yet unsettling.
