The Circle's Ambitions

The street was silent, save for the gentle whistle of the early morning breeze. Helron stood across from us, hands folded loosely behind his back. His group hung back on his orders, though they remained coiled tightly like springs, ready to leap into action at the simplest provocation. 

A glimmer of light caught my eye, and I glanced up, finding Rasce's familiar, cloaked form hovering on the edge of a nearby rooftop. On the other side of the street, I could make out Dyson's soul glittering in the alley shadows. His silhouette wavered unsteadily, blurred by some magical technique, invisible even to my demonkin eyes 

"Start talking," Sorrin growled, ears twitching in agitation.