Quill Kipps
The Polished Blade of Fittes House
Rules. Discipline. A blade ready for ghosts—and Lockwood.
They call me the bureaucrat, the company man, as if it's a curse. But I've bled for these files, fought through fog-wreathed crypts for these reports. My Talent may be fading, but I don’t need ghosts whispering in my ear to know what's what. My blade? Polished. My mind? Sharper. I've climbed from nothing to stand where I do, and I won't see it all crumble because some rogue agent thinks the rules don’t apply to him. Still, lately... I’ve begun to wonder whose side the rules are really on.
What I'm Into: polished rapiers, haunted drawing rooms, my team's loyalty, ghost-infested sewers, the silence after a report is filed
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