The streets of Clarises bustled with late evening activity, lanterns glowing softly against the encroaching twilight. Merchants packed up their stalls while townsfolk hurried home, eager to escape the creeping chill of night.

Layla, Mary Ann, and Raziel moved through the cobbled streets with practiced ease, their worn cloaks blending into the flow of travelers. Despite their unassuming appearances, there was a subtle air of purpose in their steps.

"Are you sure about this inn?" Layla asked, her eyes scanning the darkening streets with wary precision.

Mary Ann nodded confidently. "The Silver Hearth is the finest in Clarises. The innkeeper is... accommodating, so long as he believes we come with power."

Layla said nothing but silently assessed the rows of buildings ahead. Soon, the familiar creak of an old wooden sign caught her eye.

It swung gently above a sturdy, weathered structure nestled between two bustling shops. Faint light poured from its frosted windows, casting a welcoming glow despite the worn stone exterior.

The wooden sign depicted a silver flame burning brightly, accompanied by faded lettering that read: The Silver Hearth Inn - Est. 1048.

As they approached, the heavy oak door swung open, spilling warm firelight onto the street. A stout, middle-aged man with thinning hair and a round face emerged, glancing around warily before noticing the trio. His eyes widened the moment they landed on Mary Ann.

"Lady Mary Ann!" the innkeeper exclaimed, his face splitting into a relieved smile as he hurried forward with a slight bow. "What an honor! We hadn't expected—"

Mary Ann inclined her head gracefully. "We require rooms for the night—spacious, private, and secure." Her tone left no room for negotiation.

"Of course, of course!" The innkeeper's tone shifted to one of servile eagerness as he beckoned them inside. "Please, come in! You'll have the best accommodations we can offer."

They stepped into the inn's warm interior, greeted by the crackling of a large hearth dominating the far wall. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle tang of spiced ale.

Wooden beams stretched overhead, worn smooth by years of care, while polished oak tables filled the common room.

Despite its warmth and comfort, the trio couldn't ignore the strange tension that hung over the patrons scattered throughout the room. Conversations were hushed, eyes flickering toward the windows as though expecting trouble from the outside.

Layla's sharp gaze missed nothing as she studied the room with quiet intensity. "Your guests seem... uneasy," she remarked casually.

The innkeeper hesitated, his practiced smile faltering for just a moment. "Oh, you know how travelers can be—long roads, wild tales of trouble beyond the city walls... nothing to be concerned about."

Mary Ann arched a brow but said nothing, allowing the moment to pass. "Our rooms?" she prompted, her tone cool.

"Right this way, my lady." The innkeeper beckoned, practically stumbling over himself to lead them upstairs.

They ascended a sturdy wooden staircase, the soft creak of worn steps the only sound as they moved deeper into the building. At the top of the stairs, he pushed open a heavy oak door, revealing a well-appointed suite lit by a gently glowing crystal lamp mounted on the wall.

"This is our finest room," he announced proudly. "Spacious, warm, and entirely private."

The room was indeed impressive—polished oak furniture gleamed in the firelight, and thick velvet curtains framed the windows, offering both privacy and warmth. A stone hearth blazed in the corner, filling the room with comforting heat.

Layla silently inspected the space, her gaze lingering on the shadows dancing along the corners. Satisfied, she nodded.

"You've done well," Mary Ann acknowledged coolly. "Send up food and hot water."

"At once, my lady!" The innkeeper bowed deeply before retreating, leaving them alone at last.

Raziel exhaled quietly, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his concealed blade. "He recognized you immediately," he murmured to Mary Ann. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Not if he values his life," Mary Ann replied smoothly.

Layla crossed her arms, still watching the flickering firelight. "The inn may be warm, but there's something cold in the air tonight."

Raziel nodded grimly. "We'll keep our guard up."

As the door clicked shut behind them, the faint murmur of uneasy conversation continued to drift up from the common room below, a haunting reminder that safety was never guaranteed—even in the heart of civilization.

______

he Silver Hearth's common room was bathed in the warm glow of a roaring hearth, its flickering flames casting shifting shadows across the rough-hewn wooden beams overhead.

The smell of roasted meat, buttered bread, and spiced ale filled the air—a comforting aroma that usually promised rest and respite. But tonight, the atmosphere was anything but welcoming.

Layla, Mary Ann, and Raziel descended the worn wooden staircase from their room, guided by the familiar sounds of clinking tankards and crackling logs.

At first glance, the inn appeared like any other well-kept establishment: patrons sat around scattered tables, bowls of stew and mugs of ale before them, while a young serving girl hurried between the tables, her face pale and strained.

But beneath the surface, there was a subtle wrongness.

Conversations were quiet, clipped, as though every word was weighed for risk. Patrons hunched over their meals, their shoulders tense and their gazes darting toward the curtained windows at irregular intervals. Even the serving girl flinched at sudden noises—a dropped fork, the slam of the kitchen door.

Raziel's sharp gaze swept the room, cataloging exits, potential threats, and suspicious movements. He noticed how few of the patrons seemed relaxed—most kept their backs to the walls or positioned themselves near escape routes.

"Something's not right here," he muttered, keeping his hand near the hilt of his blade.

Mary Ann gave a small, knowing smile. "Observant as always."

Layla said nothing but moved toward an empty table near the hearth, her posture deceptively calm. They sat, and the fire's warmth enveloped them, though it did little to dispel the creeping chill of tension in the air.

The innkeeper himself emerged from the back, his usual bluster muted. He approached cautiously, wiping his hands on a stained apron. "Dinner will be up shortly," he announced, voice pitched too high in forced cheerfulness. "Special roast tonight... very fine."