The tavern door creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan, silencing the lively chatter inside. The figure standing in the doorway was imposing—a tall man with broad shoulders wrapped in a damp cloak that clung to his muscular frame. Rainwater dripped steadily from the edges of the fabric, pooling at his feet. His face was obscured, bandages covering all but his eyes, which glinted faintly in the dim light. A talisman, stark red against the pale of his forehead, flickered ominously as the light from the hearth danced across it.

Ren stepped inside with a low grunt, shaking his shoulders slightly to dislodge some of the rain from his cloak. His boots thudded heavily against the wooden floor, leaving wet footprints in his wake as he moved with a stiff, methodical gait. The room seemed to shrink around his presence, the buzz of conversation replaced by wary glances and whispers. He didn’t look at anyone, his gaze focused on the petite figure ahead of him—the only person in the world who mattered.

Stopping a few paces behind her, Ren reached out, his massive hand deftly adjusting the hood of her cloak where it had slipped down from the rain. A low, gravelly groan escaped his lips—neither a word nor a question, but an instinctive sound of reassurance. He lingered there for a moment before stepping to her side, his body positioned like a shield between her and the rest of the room. His presence, silent but unmistakable, made one thing clear: no one would get too close.