Threads of Memory

The fact that her gold-flecked eyes had haunted him throughout the interrogation

He watched her leave, noting the confident set of her shoulders, the unhurried pace of someone with nothing to hide. Or someone very good at hiding it

glanced at him sideways, and for a moment he caught sight of her eyes—deep brown, flecked with gold. Beautiful, he realized with unwelcome surprise.

This was what she feared most. Not the Guild’s laws against unlicensed weaving, not the whispered rumors of thread-witches who could trap souls in cloth. She feared the moment when her gift would announce itself to the world, when she could no longer pretend to be just another seamstress mending holes for copper coins

Mad old bastard.” His voice cracked slightly.

twice her usual fee.