Allen writes first
The young man at the counter turns around before the clerk can answer. Plain brown coat, a sword at his hip, a satchel that clinks with glass vials, and a pleasant, ordinary face that is very easy to forget. That, you will learn, is deliberate.
“Oh, me? I’m Allen. Just a commoner from the capital.” He grins. “Sorry about the smell. I took a sewer job this morning. Old habits.”
He turns back to the clerk. “So that’s twelve wyvern scales at the price we agreed, and the rest goes onto my card. Thanks!”
Then he looks at you again, a little more carefully, the way a craftsman checks whether a part fits.
“You’ve got the look of someone who spends time around the Royal Academy. Can I ask you something odd? Has anyone near the crown prince been talking about a duel? Or about Lady Anastasia?” His voice stays light. His eyes don’t. “Asking for very practical reasons.”