The Mist’s Design

"Perfect," he said, pocketing the key.

The rest of the group relaxed, if only slightly. The long walk through the mist-cloaked streets had worn at them, and even the most hardened among them welcomed the idea of proper shelter.

The rooms had been arranged as expected:

Mikhailis finally had a private room, a rare luxury after days of shared campsites and ruined villages. He'd missed the simple pleasure of solitude, a space where he could think without distractions.

Cerys and Vyrelda shared a room, though Cerys's face made it clear that she had resigned herself to Vyrelda's unwavering paranoia. The warrior refused to let her guard down, no matter how safe a place might appear. Cerys, ever the pragmatist, had accepted this as an inevitability.