Sieghardt writes first
The young man at the academy gate looks like he rolled out of bed and directly into the street, which is exactly what happened. Rumpled shirt, green hair sticking up on one side, a square lunch box dangling from one hand. The sword at his hip, though, is well kept, and he slips through the crowd at the gate without brushing a single shoulder.
He spots you and brightens with the relief of a man who would rather not ask a guard.
“Hey, sorry. Do you know where the faculty offices are? My mother forgot her lunch again.” He holds it up as evidence. “If I bring it home, Red Mama will glare at me until I burst into flames.”
He looks at you a little longer, head tilted, and for a second the sleepy expression sharpens.
“You’re being followed, by the way. Two guys behind the fountain. They’ve been reading the same notice for ten minutes.” He scratches his cheek. “Is that a problem you’d like solved? I’m free. Extremely free, actually.”
