Sil rubbed the back of her neck for comfort as she wandered through the streets of Moonset, brainstorming. She’d thought arriving in town days before the festival would be enough to secure a room, but with the Sad Paladin out of commission, they now had nowhere to stay. Of course, this dilemma wasn’t hers alone—her new partner shared it, though he was currently nowhere to be found.

  Their agreement had to change with the revelation that the place they were meant to regroup at was, in fact, unavailable. The best way to find Yig would be to wait at the inn, whether or not they had a room. But the sky was quickly darkening, and her chances of finding a free room were fading with the light. She rubbed her hair in frustration, shut her eyes tight, and wished a solution would appear when she opened them.

  When she lifted her head, she spotted a tavern a few houses down.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The door of the Jolly Orange squeaked as Sil pushed it open—loud enough to be heard over the celebratory laughter inside. Stools circled polished wooden tables, and in the corner, a man lay sleeping. The floor was made of uneven planks in mismatched cuts and grains, forming a kind of wooden collage.

  A group of guards sat in another corner, their silver armor set aside. They were gathered around a table cluttered with bottles and large plates of food. Their voices carried a tone of camaraderie as they exchanged personal tales only they seemed to recall.

  Wearing an innocent expression, Sil wandered over. A few guards noticed her and nudged the others, alerting them to her presence.

  “We’re off duty,” one of them said quickly, before Sil even had the chance to speak. “Scram.”

  “Now, now,” another chimed in. “If it’s a simple question, it won’t hurt to answer.”

  Something felt off. The guards weren’t acting overtly rude or aggressive—it wasn’t anything that obvious. No, this feeling was more primal. It unsettled her aura.

  “Thank you,” she replied, her voice a little higher than usual. “I’ve been looking all evening for a guard to talk to.”

  Several of the men actually looked willing to help, though it was clear they’d rather return to their night of drinking. With that in mind, Sil felt bold enough to press on.

  “I’m looking for my friend. We’re visiting from Chestnut, and I’m not the best at navigating the streets like I thought.”

  A shadow crossed the guards’ eyes. Even the least interested among them now seemed gripped by the conversation. Around them, the tavern remained festive, but the cheer faded to a ghostly hum in the background. Sil felt her heart drop. They stared at her like a pack of wild animals guarding their den.

  “Quit the funny business. Don’t come around here playing games—it won’t end well.”

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  That came from the same guard who had just moments ago welcomed her to the table.

  “I... I just—”

  “Walk away, girl!”

  Startled, Sil turned to leave. It wasn’t that they had seen through her entirely when she mentioned Chestnut—they had bought most of her story. But they saw through her innocence. That much was clear. The anger they showed meant they viewed her appearance as hostile. But even that didn’t explain why they had attacked Chestnut.

  As her hand reached for the door, it swung inward, and a scruffy young man bumped into her. He barked at her to get out of his way before striding past to the bar. A star-shaped earring nearly scraped her cheek as he pushed past.

  Sil was ready to let it go—but something about him stuck in her mind. She kept her eye on him for a moment longer, certain she’d seen him before.

  She stepped outside. The air was far colder than before. Her breath curled visibly into the air like steam, and she rubbed her hands together for warmth. In her bag was a traditional Stearna coat—a circular piece of cloth with a central hole and a front-facing slit bound by retractable threads. It was worn like a drape over the shoulders.

  These coats came in several dark colors, some more common than others.

  Hers was black.

  She wrapped it around herself with practiced grace, mind still focused on the scruffy man’s face—until it hit her.

  He was the same man who’d been pickpocketing back at the Sad Paladin.

  The man stepped out of the Jolly Orange, one hand tucked beneath his coat to hide the evidence. Sil watched from afar, perched on a nearby rooftop, shrouded by darkness. She didn’t mind the wait—field work rarely bothered her. She’d already been there for hours and was confident she could’ve waited one more.

  She watched as the man glanced both ways before heading down the street, his hand still hidden. Sil dropped from the rooftop, landing against a wall with smooth precision. She moved like a monkey—if monkeys practiced subtlety.

  Every step she took was measured as she trailed the man through the dim streets. A few lanterns still glowed, but many storefronts had gone dark for the night. The two continued, one moving casually, the other with silent caution. They passed beneath flickering streetlamps and through crowds celebrating with sparklers held high. Music and laughter echoed around them as townsfolk danced in the streets.

  Sil moved in rhythm, slipping into the crowd when needed, vanishing into shadows whenever the man glanced over his shoulder. Her senses sharpened. Her ears tuned, eyes scanning every angle.

  After ten minutes or so, the man descended a staircase that led to a lower level beneath the street. The space was dusty and unkempt, resting on the town’s fringe. Dim light glowed from the windows of the room he entered. Sil vaulted over the edge and landed silently behind him, extending a foot just in time to stop the door from closing.

  Voices murmured from inside—not in courtesy to neighbors, but so low that even someone in the room might struggle to hear.

  Before she could peer through the doorway, a man’s voice called out—low and gravelly, like a lifelong smoker.

  “Ay, if you need something, ask. And don’t let all the heat out!”

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Ule sat behind a desk, the room lit by a sliver of light. One of his owls rested in his lap, tired from a busy night’s work. He stroked its feathers gently.

  “Hey Ule!” a gravelly voice shouted from outside, echoing against the damp walls. “Some young girl was asking the guards about Chestnut today. Looks like they’ve shown up.”

  Ule considered sending a scout. But no—his owls couldn’t see through walls, and at night, even their vision had limits. His prey would likely be hiding indoors. He couldn’t keep them scouting long anyway; his mana would drain too quickly, leaving him vulnerable.

  “You hear me, Ule?” the voice called again.

  “Yes, I heard you!” Ule snapped.

  The voice groaned. “You could’ve answered the first time!”

  Ule gave the owl another pat. He’d think of something.