Rusty rode into town with the late afternoon sun at her back. Her horse’s hooves echoed sharply on the cobblestone streets, drawing a few glances from townsfolk who paused their errands long enough to watch her pass. She didn’t blame them. She gained notoriety as the hunter of monsters, savior of kidnapped village girls, and more importantly, the slayer of evil vampire Monte Carlo.

Monte Carlo and his dark forces may be gone but experience had taught her that evil didn’t die so much as duck its head and wait. There was always something or someone out there who would take his place as humanity's greatest threat.

Rusty hadn’t had real rest in days, and her body felt every mile of the road. The tavern at the edge of the square looked like salvation. Nothing fancy, but warm light flickered behind the windows, and the scent of something roasting was enough to make her stomach clench. More importantly, it was a place where people talked — and Rusty had learned long ago that taverns were better than any crystal ball when it came to figuring out what came next.

She swung off her horse and gave him a soft pat on the neck. "Good boy," she said, pressing her forehead briefly to his. Then she took a breath and pushed open the tavern door.

As soon as the door creaked, heads turned and conversations stopped abruptly. For a heartbeat, she felt the weight of every eye in the room. She didn’t flinch, just met a few gazes, nodded once, and moved forward. Let them make their guesses — bounty hunter, mercenary, soldier without a war. She’d heard it all before.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow as she approached the counter, but didn’t ask questions. Just poured her a drink and slid it across the wood. She nodded her thanks and took a long pull. It was stronger than she expected, and the burn was welcome.

She let herself look around.

The place was packed. Locals, travelers, a few loners who watched everything like she did. The air buzzed with low voices, laughter and stories were being told. Some true and some not. But somewhere in that noise was something she needed — a thread to follow, a rumor, a warning. Maybe even a name.

With ale in hand, she picked a corner booth and slid into it, easing her sore muscles against the wooden backrest. Her mind didn’t rest, though. It never did. While others drank and sang and flirted, she listened — to the way someone mentioned missing cattle, or the edge in a woman’s voice as she talked about lights in the woods.

Rusty didn’t smile, but she felt that familiar feeling in her gut. Trouble was nearby. It always was. But for now, at least, she could drink to her heart's content and wait for the next fire to be put out.