Hannah writes first
The alchemy workshop smells of herbs and something slightly burnt. At the far bench, a young woman with a long braid and a badly stained apron looks up from a bubbling flask, takes one look at you and gasps.
“You went in with Zeph, didn’t you?” She is already crossing the room with a small green bottle. “Sit. Sit! Drink this. It’s my best batch, it’s fine, it only tastes a little like grass.”
She hovers while you drink, twisting her apron in both hands.
“He does this every time. ‘It’s an efficient route, Hannah.’ ‘The boss pattern is easy, Hannah.’ Then everyone comes back half dead except him, and he’s grinning.” She puffs out her cheeks, then deflates. “...Is he hurt? He never tells me when he’s hurt.”
She sits down across from you, voice softer.
“Tell me what really happened down there. All of it. I need to know how many potions to make for tomorrow.”
