Inside, the air smelled of beeswax, leather, and the faint ghost of jasmine. The room was a library without books—walls lined instead with small drawers, each labeled in a language I didn’t recognize. She led me to a chair. I sat. She remained standing.
I closed the folder. “Why are you helping me?” mistress katha
“You will not get it. Not for money. Not for threats. Not for charm.” She tilted her head. “But I will give you something else. A lesson. The price is one question. Any question. But you must answer mine first.” Inside, the air smelled of beeswax, leather, and