Vale moved through the smoky tavern with deliberate calm, each step silent yet assured. The noise, the clink of mugs, the hush of private deals, the occasional burst of laughter—faded into a dull throb at the edge of his awareness.
His focus had narrowed.
Elias was just in front of him.
The name echoed like a promise—and a threat.
The hooded figure accepted his drink from the barkeep with a curt nod, then turned and strolled toward an empty booth near the back wall. His gait was smooth and practised—someone used to keeping an eye on his surroundings but not alert enough to expect danger in familiar territory.
Vale followed, weaving through crowded tables, careful to avoid eye contact. By the time Elias slid into the booth, Vale was already there.
He sat down across from the man without a word.
Elias looked up, eyes narrowing in faint surprise. Then his expression hardened.
"You're not a regular," he said, his voice low and wary. "I don't remember inviting you."
