Fendrel stared at the lifeless body on the floor, his hands shaking as he fumbled with his belt. The parasite writhed inside him, a nauseating reminder of what had just happened. The nun's skin had taken on an unnatural green tinge, her limbs splayed at odd angles.

The door creaked open. The woman who brought him to the church earlier stepped inside, her dark eyes sweeping the scene. Her gaze lingered on the dead nun before dropping to Fendrel's disheveled state.

"So, you live." She said in suspiciously annoyed tone "Did you have to kill her while fucking her?" She crossed her arms, walking around the body.

"I didn't kill her! I mean, I didn't mean to-" The words caught in his throat as bile rose up.

She cut him off with a sigh, stepping over the corpse. Her boots clicked against the stone floor as she crouched next to the dead woman, turning the nun's head to examine her face. "It's not like I don't understand. She must have learned what you got for your advancement. Considering its likely something seriously twisted, I'm not shocked she ended up dead."

Fendrel's fingers fumbled with his pants, yanking them up. "I didn't kill her!" His voice cracked. "And what do you mean by that?"

The woman stood up, brushing dust from her knees. Her eyes rolled skyward. "Stop yelling. It doesn't matter now anyway." She walked to the workbench, examining the ingredients. "I'll clean this up. You should get out of here, go about your business. I'll contact you when it's time to pay back the favors you now owe."

Fendrel's hands trembled as he gathered his scattered supplies from the workbench. The glass vials clinked against each other, threatening to slip from his grasp.

"My lab..." His voice cracked. "The guards and Ironmire know where I live. They'll be watching it."

The woman picked up a stray herb that had fallen to the floor, crushing it between her fingers. The bitter scent filled the air. "Not my concern. You got what you wanted - your advancement. The rest?" She waved her hand at the corpse. "That's your mess to deal with."

Fendrel's stomach lurched. The reality of his situation crashed over him. No home. No lab. Nowhere to go. The weight of it pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But where-"

"Figure it out." She cut him off, her dark eyes fixing him with a cold stare. "Oh, and before you scurry off to whatever hole you find - we need those potions you promised. Twenty of them."

The blood drained from Fendrel's face. Twenty potions. He'd need a proper lab setup, ingredients, time...

"Better start brewing." She turned her back on him, already focused on dealing with the body.

Fendrel stumbled out of the church, his mind spinning. The cool night air did nothing to clear his thoughts. His advancement to toxin synthesis - what should have been a triumphant moment - felt hollow. The demands of his new class abilities clashed with the growing list of obligations he'd taken on. Twenty potions for the church. More poison for himself.

He clutched his bag of supplies closer, his feet carrying him aimlessly through the dark streets. The weight of everything pressed down on him, stealing any joy from achieving one of the most sought-after alchemical advancements.

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Fendrel's boots scraped against the cobblestones as he made his way through the waking city. The sun crept over the eastern walls, painting the buildings in pale gold. Market stalls creaked open, owners arranging their wares while the morning dew still clung to the canvas awnings.

His muscles felt wired, humming with an unfamiliar energy that kept exhaustion at bay despite the sleepless night. The advancement had changed something in him - or perhaps it was just the parasite's influence growing stronger.

The crowds thickened as he entered the merchant district, forcing him to weave between early morning shoppers. His lab was out of reach now, and with it most of his supplies. The thought of his carefully organized workspace being ransacked by whoever made their way into his lab made his chest tight.

He needed ingredients - both for the cabal's potions and to keep his own life. The upper district's herbalist shop would have everything, but... Fendrel tugged at his worn sleeve, grimacing at the dried blood still crusted under his fingernails. He hardly looked the part of an upper district patron.

Then again, what choice did he have? The smaller vendors wouldn't stock half of what he needed, and the black market contacts would take too long to arrange meetings with. Besides, who would try anything in the busiest shop in the merchant quarter?

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The herbalist's shop rose before him, three stories of polished stone and gleaming windows. Fresh herbs hung in neat bundles from the eaves, their fragrance mixing with the morning air. Through the windows, Fendrel spotted shelves lined with jars and bottles, each meticulously labeled.

His hand hesitated on the brass door handle. But when he pushed inside, no one even glanced his way. The shop buzzed with activity - merchants examining dried herbs, nobles' servants collecting orders, apprentice alchemists comparing notes on ingredients. The familiar scents of dried herbs and preserved specimens wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket.

Fendrel's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Here, he was just another customer, unremarkable among the morning crowd. He could work with this. Now he just needed to gather his supplies before anyone looked too closely at his disheveled state.

Fendrel approached the counter, his fingers trying desperately to make him presentable. The herbalist looked up from his ledger, eyes narrowing as he took in Fendrel's appearance.

"What can I help you with?" The old man's voice carried an edge of suspicion.

"I need bloodthorn resin, ashroot, and spiderling venom." Fendrel pulled out three silver coins, placing them on the worn wooden counter. "And some dralk weed, if you have any fresh."

The herbalist's eyes flickered to the coins, then back to Fendrel's face. His stern expression softened as he swept the coins from the table with practiced efficiency. "Ah, a serious customer." He put his quill into the ink jar.

"Third shelf on the right for the resin. Ashroot's in the barrel by the window. I'll fetch the venom from the back." The old man pointed to each place.

As Fendrel moved between the shelves, the scent of dried herbs filled his nose. He reached for a jar of bloodthorn resin, its dark contents gleaming in the morning light.

Movement caught his eye. A man in a plain brown coat stood near the dried flower display, examining a bunch of petaline herbs. His clothes were too well-made for a common merchant, the fabric too fine despite its simple cut.

The man glanced up, meeting Fendrel's gaze for a moment before quickly looking away. Fendrel's stomach tightened. He grabbed the resin and moved toward the window, keeping the stranger in his peripheral vision.

The man shifted, maintaining the same distance between them as Fendrel gathered his ingredients. Each time Fendrel looked up, he caught the stranger's eyes darting away.

Fendrel's hands shook as he measured out the ashroot. The stranger hadn't moved from his position by the dried flowers, still maintaining that calculated distance. Something about his stance screamed 'trained' - the way he kept his back to the wall, how his eyes swept the room in regular patterns.

The parasite writhed beneath Fendrel's skin, a reminder of the ticking clock. He couldn't afford to wait around wondering who'd sent this man. If someone wanted him dead, they'd find him eventually. Better to face it now, in a crowded shop, than alone in some dark alley.

Fendrel clutched his purchases and approached the man, trying to keep his movements casual. "Nice morning for shopping." His voice cracked on the last word.

The stranger's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Indeed."

"Look, I..." Fendrel lowered his voice, leaning closer. "Whatever you think, I didn't mean to mess up anyone's plans. I'm just an alchemist trying to survive."

"Is that so?" The man's expression remained neutral, but something flickered in his eyes - interest, perhaps?

"Yes, exactly." Fendrel's words tumbled out faster. "I know things got complicated, but I'm not looking for trouble. Just need to brew my potions and keep my head down."

The stranger nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Complicated situations often require... delicate solutions."

"Right, yes." Fendrel's chest tightened. Was this acknowledgment or a threat? "So we understand each other?"

"Oh, I believe we're beginning to." The man's smile widened fractionally. "Perhaps you'd care to elaborate on these complications?"

Fendrel glanced around the shop, then leaned closer to the stranger. "Look, your people know I can be useful. My potions - they're high quality. Stuff that no alchemists in the city make." He pulled a small vial from his pocket, its contents shimmering with an ethereal green glow. "See?"

"Interesting." The man's eyes fixed on the vial. "And you're suggesting...?"

"I can make some of the better stuff for your people. Healing potions, poison resistance, specialty items." Fendrel's heart hammered against his ribs. "In exchange for some... understanding about recent events."

The stranger's lips curved into a calculated smile. "Ah yes, my employer has mentioned your work. Though recent circumstances have complicated matters."

Fendrel checked the ticking timer, less than eight hours until he needed another dose. His fingers trembled as he tucked the vial away.

"I can't wait days for an answer. But I can guarantee quality and quantity that would make it worth your while." Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"A generous offer." The man adjusted his coat sleeve, revealing a glimpse of an ornate church seal. "I'll certainly pass this along to the appropriate parties."

Fendrel shifted his weight, clutching his purchases. "What should I do until then? The guards..."

"No need to worry." The man's confidence seemed to grow with each passing moment. "I'll pass your proposal to my boss. For now, come with me - I know a place where you can stay."

Fendrel's stomach churned as he approached the counter. The herbalist laid out the vials of spiderling venom alongside his other gathered ingredients.

"That'll be forty silver for the lot." The old man's weathered hands arranged the items.

Fendrel's fingers trembled as he counted out the coins. The price was steep, but he couldn't risk haggling. Not now.

"One more thing," Fendrel said. "Do you have any Frostbloom Dust?"

The herbalist considered him for a moment, his eyes flickering to the stranger. "Sorry. Too rare these days. Haven't had any in stock for months."

"Damn it," Fendrel muttered, wondering about possible alternatives. Without Frostbloom, he'd need to find another source - and fast.

The stranger stepped closer, his presence commanding yet subtle. "Shall we?"

Fendrel stared at the man, doubt gnawing at his insides. Following a stranger seemed foolish, but what choice did he have? His lab was compromised, the assassins were still searching for him unaware of this deal, and the parasite's clock kept ticking.

"Yes, I... suppose so."

"Good." The agent strode toward the door with practiced grace. "Follow me, and don't say a word."