The last door of Les Murmures: the residence of Daughter. The sycamore fig wood door dissipated upon a transfixed set of incantations from the blonde in the white summer dress, the hieroglyphics glowing red momentarily. "Here you are!" Grace gestured to the opened door with a dramatic arm. "Daughter is waiting."
Indeed, she was. Stepping inside, a heavy weight came upon his shoulders. The sun-kissed woman bathed in gold accessories lazily looked at him, head hanging off the hammock.
"You disappeared on us, Jack."
"I had business to attend to."
"The Hall of Players?" Daughter questioned, deep brown eyes lit up by the floating candles.
"Indeed."
So the Whispers' spies didn't extend to the Hall of Players? Why?
"The Architects are an annoying bunch," Daughter said as if reading his mind. "They declare the Hall of Players a neutral territory. Ironic given they sell tickets to Natural Borns and allow the selling of merchandise."
