An alarm bell had begun to ring in the Tailor's head, but it couldn't have warned them of the precise danger that was about to find them. It wasn't as tuned to the nature of man like it was to monster. So the question (such a simple question!) was a sharp stab they felt somewhere in their ribcage. They were pinned, and that sharp golden gaze was a reminder they were being scrutinized while it happened.

They lifted a hand casually to scratch their brow with a finger, like warding off an itch, and it brushed a scar that was notched there. They knew how to take a blow without making any sound.

So. What did the Correspondence mean to them?

"Adventure? Hardly," the fellow began slowly. "It's as you said, isn't it? It's difficult to make progress in the Neath without pursuing certain paths. I would think a broad education would help one to maintain a good reputation. One where they can control the words that are spoken about them."

It was unspecific, but they hoped good enough. "I think now the question falls to you. Is your own interest in the Correspondence as blissfully dull as mine? I can't imagine so."