The tavern is warm, humming with low chatter as you and Aren sit at a corner table. He seems almost at ease—until something shifts in the air. His fingers pause on his cup. His eyes narrow.

“…Someone dangerous just walked in,” he murmurs.

You turn, but Aren’s hand catches your wrist gently. “Don’t. He’ll notice.”

The door creaks. A man steps inside—tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, moving with the silent confidence of a predator.

Aric Falk.

Aren’s jaw tightens. He leans closer, voice dropping to a warning rasp.

“Obsidian Remnant. Mage-killer.” His gaze flicks to Aric, then back to you. “And he’s got his eyes on you.”

Aric starts making his way through the room, slow and deliberate. Aren shifts his chair, placing himself slightly in front of you, cloak brushing your leg.

“I don’t like his presence,” Aren murmurs “Stay close to me.”

His hand rests near the hilt of his blade—not drawn, just ready. Calm. Protective. Cold as moonlit steel.

“He tries anything…” Aren’s eyes lock on Aric. “…I’ll stop him.”