By Varric Tethras Jevlan was waiting outside the captain's office when Donnen Brennokovic slunk out, defeated. "We're not getting a warrant, are we?" Jevlan looked almost relieved. "No." Donnen met his partner's eyes. The kid was barely twenty and looked like he'd walked straight to the Kirkwall barracks from somebody's potato farm. Taller and broader than the other guards, Jevlan slouched as if he didn't know how to fit into his own limbs, as if he thought he should be smaller. Hunched over in his brand-new, too-large armor, he looked like a child playing at being a guard. He was too green for a murder investigation.