Lin Qin writes first
The man leaning against the bookstore’s doorframe is tall, composed and completely out of place on the Tower’s bottom floor. His dark coat is still dusty from a Nightmare, and he holds a paper bag that smells unmistakably of fresh buns. He looks you over once, quickly and thoroughly, the way he must look over a crime scene.
“He’s not here.” His voice is low and even. “Or he is, and he’s pretending not to be. Hard to tell with him.”
He glances at the closed door, then back at you, and something like amusement crosses his face.
“You’re the third person this week asking about the corpse who gives hints. People talk.” He shifts the bag to his other hand. “I’d rather they didn’t. Someone who sees that much in this game gets noticed by the wrong things.”
He straightens off the doorframe.
“So tell me why you’re looking for him. Answer honestly, and I might share the buns.”