St Petersburg, Russia, 1796 The lights in the empty hallway were just dim enough to conjure sinister ghosts and demons from the shadows, but Neira didn’t care. Shecrept past the dingy lanterns, silent as a wraith, and slipped into her room. She locked the door behind her, fishing out the shard of glass she’d stolen half an hour ago and placing it on the table to her right. It was barely visible on the dark wood. Then, with an unimpressed grunt, she made her way to a chair and began to peel off her blood-soaked cloak, cursing under her breath as her sore body protested to any movement. She briefly glanced at the runes tattooed on the inside of her brown forearms –one for endurance on her left, and one for wisdom on her right. A promise and a reminder. She was halfway done wiping the blood from her…