You just don’t see that kind of magic at work in Stormbreak. You don’t. Even for a science-minded man like Falke, the sight of someone soaring around on a cloud is remarkable. He stares openly at the man, stuck in some sort of awe-shock combo as he comes to land beside the Fixer. “Say what?” he sputter-laughs, quickly followed by, “To whom?” Their presence is common knowledge in the Order now and with antics like that, all of Stormbreak would soon know, even if their heads were under rocks.
Cian? The Eye already likely knows. He knows all. Sees all. Keeps it close to his chest. This would probably make it back to him anyway.
“You must be Ronin,” Falke says with a wide smile, extending a hand to shake. Bold, he thinks but then he must treat this one like every other potential patient (even if he is fangirling a little inside). “I’m Falke. Or Dr. Guildenstern. Or the Fixer.”
See, he, too, goes by several titles.
Cian? The Eye already likely knows. He knows all. Sees all. Keeps it close to his chest. This would probably make it back to him anyway.
“You must be Ronin,” Falke says with a wide smile, extending a hand to shake. Bold, he thinks but then he must treat this one like every other potential patient (even if he is fangirling a little inside). “I’m Falke. Or Dr. Guildenstern. Or the Fixer.”
See, he, too, goes by several titles.
FALKE
