The letter came at dusk.
A rider from the manor, no fanfare, no explanation. Just a sealed envelope with Ravenholdt's mark pressed into the wax. I took it to my room, broke the seal, and read it twice before the words settled.
Kalimdor. Armies in the south. A contact in Ratchet. Go.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time.
Then I folded the letter, tucked it into my coat, and went to find Elira.
She was in the kitchen of the Southshore inn, wiping down the counter long after the last customer had left. The fire had burned low. The room smelled of herbs and old wood. She looked up when I walked in, and something in my face must have told her before I spoke.
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning."
She nodded. Set down the cloth. Came around the counter and stood in front of me, close enough that I could smell the lavender soap she used.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
It was the truth. I didn't know how long the job would take. I didn't know what I was walking into. The letter had been brief — intentionally so. Ravenholdt wanted eyes in Kalimdor, and they wanted them now.
"It's just intelligence," I said. "A few months, maybe. I'll write."
She looked at me. Her eyes were steady — that was the thing about Elira. She always saw more than I wanted her to.
She let out a slow breath. Then she reached up and straightened the collar of my coat — a small, practical gesture that said more than words could.
"Then you'd better write often."
I slept poorly that night. The room was too quiet. The bed too empty. I lay awake listening to the wind move through the hills outside, trying to imagine what Kalimdor looked like, trying to imagine what I would find there.
I couldn't.
At dawn, I saddled my horse and left before the inn woke up.
I did not look back.