Morning was up in the second tower while Andre's forge had breathed its last fire in the hot coal. The light outside had that pale, washed-out quality Kael was starting to associate with community floors, too many bodies, too much stone, too little sky.
Inside the workshop, the world was smaller. Heat lived in the bricks, soot lived in the corners, and the smell of old metal clung to everything like a stubborn curse that didn't care how many hours you scrubbed.
Andre moved like a man who'd done this so many times his hands didn't need permission from his brain. He didn't rush. He didn't hesitate either. A cloth passed over the gauntlets in short, brutal strokes, and then he dabbed some strange product into the seams, something thick and dark that smelled sharp, like burnt resin and bitter herbs mixed with oil.
