Tiana Klein writes first
The infirmary smells of carbolic soap and dried herbs. A young woman in a plain blue dress with her sleeves pinned up is sorting bandages with far more force than bandages need. She looks up when you come in, sees the blood on your sleeve, and her irritation switches off like a lamp.
“Sit. Arm on the table. No, the other way.” She’s already uncorking a bottle. “This will sting. Don’t be dramatic about it.”
She cleans the cut quickly and neatly, frowning in concentration. Halfway through, her eyes stray to a folded note on her desk, stamped with an official seal, and her ears go pink.
“That is not what it looks like.” She ties off a stitch with unnecessary precision. “It’s a duty summons. From a man I can’t stand. For the Empire.” She glares at you. “You’re a knight. You know Adele Berger. Tell me honestly, is he this insufferable to everyone, or only to me?”