The scent of tobacco, ale, and roasted meat hung thick in the low-lit air of the Dunbrae Inn. Candle chandeliers dangled precariously over the crowded room, flickering like restless fireflies. In a corner booth shrouded in shadow, Lord Julian Ravenshade sat cloaked and inconspicuous, the hood of his dark traveling coat casting a sharp shadow over his features. His eyes, however, missed nothing. Every movement. Every whisper.
At the bar counter stool sat Tomas, dressed like a worn traveler—faded coat, dusty boots, and a charming yet aloof expression. The barmaid, plump and pretty with hair the color of cherrywood, flirted with ease, sliding him another mug of local brew while twirling a strand of her hair.
The door swung open to reveal a stout man, old and grey haired with ruddy cheeks and a booming voice.
"Theo! Theodore the trader!" someone cheered.
