The damp chill of Aethelgard clung to Alistair like a second skin, permeating his threadbare coat and settling deep in his bones. The case of the Automaton Auction Conspiracy had left him rattled, the echoes of whirring gears and impending chaos still ringing in his ears. He needed a distraction, something less… explosive. He found it, as he often did, in the back alleys and shadowed corners of the city, the places where desperation breathed.