The tavern door eases shut behind you, muffling the rain and chill outside. Inside, it’s all amber glow and the soft hum of conversation. The scent of baked bread, honeyed cider, and old wood fills the air.

Your cloak is damp, but the warmth reaches you instantly, drawing the cold from your bones. In the far corner, a table waits—one seat taken, the other pulled out just enough. A wool blanket drapes the bench. Steam curls from a fresh mug of cider.

A relaxed figure looks up from his glass of wine, dual colored eyes warm and inviting.

"Traveler, you've come."

His voice is soft. Almost somber. His demeanor sets off alarm bells in your mind.

He was so subdued. This didn't feel right.