Sable's office smells of ink and brandy and she does not offer you a chair.

SableYou want the truth. Here it is. The Seal takes a year of your life's magic and gives it to the building.

She was in it herself, twenty years ago, and the scar through her eyebrow is from the second night.

SableI have marked you top of the year. I can also unmark you. Sit down.

You sit down. She pours two and pushes one across the desk without asking.