"Yes, from Adria church." The words felt like acid on Fendrel's tongue, each syllable carrying the weight of his deception.

The owner's demeanor transformed in an instant. Gone was the suspicion, replaced by an almost eager compliance. "You should have said so from the start." He made a quick gesture with his hand. One of the women, draped in deep purple silk that caught the lamplight, rose from her position and glided toward them.

"She will take care of you."

The woman approached with practiced grace, her movements precise and controlled. Her face remained neutral, neither inviting nor cold. She beckoned Fendrel to follow with a slight tilt of her head.

Fendrel found himself captivated by the sway of her hips, the way the silk draped over them like a second skin. His gaze traced the curves, feeling a stirring deep within him despite the tense situation.

Her silk-clad body casting shadows on the walls. Her every movement was calculated and seductive. And it was working. Fendrel found himself more aroused than the situation he was in would suggest.

The woman led Fendrel up a winding staircase, her silk dress whispering against the polished wood. The corridor above stretched into darkness, broken only by pools of amber light from ornate wall sconces. She paused at a door adorned with gold filigree - far grander than the others they'd passed.

The room beyond matched the door's opulence. Plush velvet curtains framed tall windows, and a four-poster bed dominated the space, its sheets shimmering like liquid silver in the low light. The air carried notes of jasmine and something deeper, more exotic.

Fendrel's boots sank into the thick carpet as he paced the length of the room. His fingers traced patterns in the air, following invisible formulas and measurements. The parasite writhed beneath his skin, sensing his mounting anxiety.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." The woman's voice carried the practiced warmth of someone used to putting others at ease. Her fingers found the clasps of her dress, sliding them free with practiced grace.

"Stop." Fendrel's voice came out sharper than intended. "We don't have time for that. They'll be here soon."

Her hands stilled on the half-undone clasps. She straightened, head tilted like a bird studying something curious. "Who?"

"People, who want me dead." His tongue felt heavy.

"I see." Her face betrayed confusion as she fastened her clothes back. "But what do you expect me to do about it?"

Fendrel ran his fingers through his sweat-damp hair, leaving it standing in odd angles. "I need you to get me out of here."

She studied him for a long moment, her painted lips pressed into a thin line. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the muffled sounds of music from below and Fendrel's uneven breathing.

The woman's expression shifted, a calculated look replacing her earlier confusion. "There might be someone who can help. Follow me."

She moved to the far corner of the room, her fingers finding a hidden catch in the wooden paneling. A section of the wall swung inward with barely a whisper, revealing a narrow passage beyond.

Fendrel's heart hammered against his ribs as he followed her into the darkness. The parasite under his skin twisted, responding to his anxiety. The passage smelled of damp stone and something else - chemical, familiar.

The tunnel opened into a wider area. Oil lamps cast dancing shadows across shelves lined with glass bottles and ceramic jars. Fendrel's eyes caught items he recognized: Bluecap Mushroom, Nightshade essence, even Glowroot and other advanced ingreadients.

"Is this..." Fendrel's voice trailed off as they passed a room with a proper distillation setup. Copper coils gleamed in the low light, connected to carefully arranged glassware.

"The church has many interests." She didn't slow her pace, leading him past more storage rooms. Crates bore stamps in languages he didn't recognize, while others carried familiar alchemical symbols.

"You seem experienced with this." Fendrel ducked under a low arch. "Helping people disappear."

She glanced back, lamplight catching the curve of her smile. "Let's just say you're not my first demanding customer. The church provides many services to those in need."

The passage curved upward, the air growing fresher. They emerged into what looked like a store room, but the boxes here bore official church seals. Through a half-open door, Fendrel spotted more supplies - some bearing the distinctive markings of black market goods.

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"What kind of church operation is this?" Fendrel whispered, noting a crate labeled in cipher he recognized from his own dealings.

"The kind that understands faith takes many forms." She straightened her silk dress, somehow still immaculate despite their journey.

The passage opened into a small room furnished with nothing more than two wooden chairs. Dust motes danced in a shaft of light filtering through a narrow window set high in the wall.

"Wait here." The woman gestured toward one of the chairs. "I'll return shortly."

Fendrel sank into the chair, its wood creaking under his weight. His fingers drummed against his thigh as minutes crawled by, each second stretching like hours.

The woman slipped back into the room, her silk dress rustling against the stone floor. Her face remained unreadable as she gestured for him to follow behind her.

She led Fendrel through another set of doors into a chamber that put the previous rooms to shame. Gilded columns stretched toward a vaulted ceiling painted with religious scenes. Thick carpets muffled their footsteps, and the air carried the sweet smoke of burning incense.

Behind a massive desk carved from dark wood sat an older man in pristine white robes. His face bore the weathered lines of experience, but his eyes remained sharp and alert. A golden chain around his neck held the symbol of Adria.

"You've caused quite a stir, haven't you?" The priest's lips curved into a half-smile.

Fendrel's throat tightened. He wiped his palms against his trousers. "I didn't mean to bring trouble to your place of god. I'm simple alchemist. My skills were meant to-"

"To avoid conflict? Help others in need?" The priest raised an eyebrow. "Yet here you are, leaving quite a trail of bodies and chaos in your wake."

"I had no choice." Fendrel's fingers twitched.

The priest leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "Let me be clear Master Solinar. The church maintains many interests throughout the city. Alchemy plays a role in our... various endeavors. Both in healing the sick and in more discrete matters." He gestured to the woman, who slipped away without a word. "This district, for instance, operates under our protection."

"You control the brothels?"

"We provide guidance to all of Adria's children, regardless of their profession." The priest's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps we could help each other."

Fendrel shifted in front of the heavy table, the priest's words echoing in the chamber. The man's explanation unfolded like a scroll, revealing layers of the church's involvement in city affairs that Fendrel had never suspected.

"We maintain a delicate balance," the priest said, adjusting the golden chain at his neck. "The criminal elements respect our territory, and in return, we ensure the safety of those under our care."

"How do you know about me?" Fendrel's fingers drummed against his leg.

The priest's weathered face softened. "Sister Marina observed you in the lower district. Selling healing potions to those in need of them." He leaned back. "We've watched you since then, trying to understand your motivations."

Sweat beaded on Fendrel forehead. They seriously don't know about what goes in my lab? He licked his lips. Or my dealings with the black market?

"The poor deserve care as much as the wealthy," Fendrel said, the half-truth falling easily from his lips.

"Indeed." The priest nodded. "Which is why we'd like to propose an arrangement. Your skills could benefit many under our protection. We need someone capable of producing healing potions, antidotes - remedies to counter the threats our people face."

Fendrel's mind raced. Someone else must handle the darker side of the church's business in the brothels. I could use this, right? I could gain legitimacy through the church and have the healing potion business I wanted, along with paying customers lined up within a couple of days.

"In return," the priest continued, "you'll have access to our facilities. A safe haven until this unfortunate business with the guard dies down." He gestured to the rooms they'd passed. "Our laboratories would be at your disposal."

The offer dangled before Fendrel like a perfectly crafted lure. Protection from the guards hunting him. Access to proper equipment. But the church's reach extended deep into the city's shadows, and Fendrel had enough secrets to bury him.

"I'm honored by the offer," Fendrel said, choosing his words carefully. "But I assume this arrangement would come with certain... expectations?"

The priest spread his hands. "Only that you continue your charitable work under our guidance. The church protects its own, Master Solinar. Especially those who share our commitment to helping the less fortunate."

The heavy door creaked open, interrupting their conversation. A tall man in well-tailored clothes entered with measured steps, his presence filling the chamber despite his understated appearance. The priest's expression shifted, a flicker of surprice crossing his weathered features.

"Father." The man bowed his head slightly. "A messenger from the Ironmire Court is in the main hall."

Fendrel's stomach twisted. The parasite beneath his skin writhed in response to his mounting anxiety.

"What does he want?" The priest asked, his earlier warmth replaced by careful neutrality.

"They demand we hand over Master Solinar." The messenger's eyes fixed on Fendrel. "They're willing to forgive his... indiscretions regarding recent events, provided he honors the original arrangement they had agreed on."

Sweat beaded on Fendrel's forehead. Of course they'd tracked him here. His fingers curled into fists.

The priest's pale eyes studied Fendrel, measuring his reaction. "It seems you have more pressing obligations than you mentioned."

Fendrel's mind raced. The Ironmire could ensure his immediate survival, if he were to agree to deliver for them, but it wouldn't end there. The church offered protection, resources, yet their reach into the city's underworld suggested darker aspects to their operation.

Both choices felt like nooses tightening around his neck. The priest's calculating gaze never wavered, watching every movement that crossed Fendrel's face.

Fendrel's throat constricted as he glanced between the two men watching him. He'd thought he could play both sides - keep the Ironmire Court satisfied with their poisons while building a legitimate healing business. Now those threads had tangled little too tight.

The priest's weathered face revealed nothing, but his pale eyes dissected every twitch of Fendrel's expression. Looking for weakness. Looking for truth. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft echo of distant chants filtering through stone walls.

I'm here at their mercy, and I don't get a choice in this, do I?