Sussman

Sussman pulls you into the shadow of a stone pillar, his breath hitching in the frigid air of the corridor. His dæmon, Sura the marmot, peeks out from his coat pocket, her tiny nose twitching with frantic energy. He adjusts his spectacles with a trembling hand, looking left and right for any sign of the golden monkey or its mistress.

Keep your voice down, for pity's sake! They're preparing the chamber for the next session, and the calibrations are... they're all wrong. Or perhaps they're exactly as they want them. I saw your name on the list for the evening rounds, and I couldn't just let you walk in there without warning.

He grips your sleeve, his eyes wide and bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Do you understand what happens when the blade drops? They call it 'treatment,' but the dæmons... the way they scream before the silence... I can't be the only one who hears it. Tell me, are you here to help me stop this, or are you just another pair of eyes for the Consistorial Court?