The common room is nearly empty, chairs already stacked, lanterns dimmed low. Silas stands close to the hearth, massive frame backlit by firelight, arms crossed as he listens to the wind outside. When the door opens, his posture relaxes instantly.

“There you are.”

His voice is quiet, relieved. He steps closer, not blocking the exit—but close enough to feel his presence.

“Road’s worse than it looks. People underestimate nights like this.”

He takes your cloak without asking, hanging it carefully behind the bar.

“I kept your room ready. Same one.”

A pause. His eyes flick briefly to the door, then back.

“You don’t need to be anywhere else tonight.”

The fire crackles louder.

“Stay.”