The Watcher’s Mark

Lena stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the town far below. From this height, New Haven appeared so small, almost insignificant, with its crumbling rooftops and narrow streets barely visible through the veil of mist that had settled over the valley. The devastation from the attack was clear, but from where she stood, the destruction seemed distant, like a memory fading into the haze.

The cold wind tugged at her cloak, sending a shiver down her spine. She pulled it tighter around her shoulders, trying to shake off the creeping sense of dread that gnawed at her insides. It had been Edwin's idea to stop here, to rest. Roderick and Jarin needed time to tend to their wounds, and the stream nearby offered fresh water for cleaning and bandaging.

The sharp chill in the air was a constant reminder that the season was nearly upon them. It clung to her skin, biting at her fingers and nose, making her wonder how much longer they could continue like this

Lena took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs, and listened to the faint sound of the stream trickling somewhere behind her. The soft murmur of the water was soothing, a gentle reminder that not everything had been destroyed in the chaos. She turned, following the sound, her boots crunching against the rocky ground as she moved toward the water's edge.

Lena followed the sound of the stream, her boots crunching over the gravelly path as she made her way through the thin line of trees that separated the clearing from the water. The stream was narrow but clear, its surface shimmering as it wound lazily through the rocky terrain. Around it, clusters of ferns and wildflowers clung to the damp soil, and the tall pines that framed the water swayed gently in the cool breeze.

The boys were by the stream, and the quiet murmurs of their conversation reached her through the rustling leaves. Roderick was seated on a fallen log, his shirt tossed carelessly to one side, exposing his broad, muscular frame. Lena blinked in surprise. She had known Roderick for years, but she had never noticed how built he was. His normally stern and polished appearance had given way to something more rugged. His torso, marked by a few old scars, was now covered in bruises from the battle, but his strength was undeniable.

Was he always this strong? Lena wondered, startled by the thought. She quickly looked away, refocusing as she saw Jarin by the water's edge, washing blood from his hands. His clothes were torn, his face pale from exhaustion, but he managed a tired smile when he noticed her.

"You're finally back," Jarin said, wiping his hands on his trousers as he walked over to her. "How's the view from up there?"

"Far enough to make the town look like a memory," Lena replied, her voice quieter than she intended. She glanced at Roderick, who was wincing slightly as Edwin tied off the last of his bandages. "How are you both holding up?"

Jarin shrugged. "Roderick here's acting tough, as usual," he teased, though his own weariness was clear in his voice. "But I think we're all feeling worse for wear."

Roderick shot him a tired glare but didn't argue. "I'll live," he muttered, adjusting the bandage at his side. "We can't afford to slow down."

"There," Edwin said, standing up and wiping his hands clean. "That should hold for now. But we need to keep moving soon."

Jarin let out a low groan and stretched his aching limbs. "Can't we stay here just a little longer? The stream's kind of nice, and I think I'm starting to like the idea of not moving."

Edwin shook his head, his expression serious. "We need to get to Drakemoor as soon as possible. There's no telling what else might be out there, and we don't want to be caught on the road when darkness falls."

Lena nodded in agreement. She could feel the urgency in Edwin's tone, the same nagging sense of danger that had been hanging over them since the attack. "He's right, Jarin. We need to keep moving."

Jarin sighed but nodded, his playful tone fading. "Fine. Drakemoor it is, then." He glanced at Roderick. "Think you can manage the walk, big guy?"

Roderick gave him a sharp look but stood up, slowly adjusting to his feet. "I'll be fine. Let's just get moving."

With that, they gathered their belongings, the soothing sound of the stream behind them fading as they prepared for the long trek ahead. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting an orange glow over the landscape, reminding them all that time was running out. Together, they set off toward Drakemoor, the road ahead uncertain, but their resolve stronger than ever.

The path to Drakemoor was unforgiving. As they trekked through the fading light, the landscape shifted from dense, shadowy forests to open stretches of barren, wind-swept plains. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and death, a constant reminder of the destruction that had ravaged the land. The sky, once a soft shade of lavender, was now bruised and darkening, as if the heavens themselves bore witness to the horrors below.

The first town they passed, Grey Hollow, was little more than a skeleton of what it once had been. The once bustling streets, where merchants had once haggled and children had played, were eerily silent now, save for the sound of the wind whistling through broken windows and shattered doorways. The cobblestones, slick with fresh blood, glistened under the faint light, marking a trail of violence that had carved through the heart of the town.

Bodies lay scattered across the square, some slumped against walls, others sprawled in the open. Their faces were frozen in expressions of terror, as if the darkness had taken them before they could even scream. The tavern that once stood at the town's center, with its warm fires and laughter, was now nothing but a burnt-out husk, its charred beams pointing toward the sky like skeletal fingers accusing the gods.

Lena tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger, the weight of the scene pressing down on her. She had heard stories of war, of devastation—but to see it firsthand was something else entirely. Jarin, walking beside her, glanced at the scene, his face pale, his usual humor swallowed by the grim reality. Roderick said nothing, his jaw clenched as they carefully stepped around the bodies, their boots splashing through puddles of rainwater mixed with blood.

"This was a slaughter," Edwin muttered grimly as they passed the old blacksmith's shop, its door hanging from its hinges. "No one had a chance."

They moved on, leaving Grey Hollow behind, the wind at their backs, carrying the faint, bitter scent of ashes as they pushed forward.

It wasn't long before they reached the second town, Briar Glen, a place Lena had visited once as a child. She barely recognized it now. Briar Glen had always been known for its vibrant gardens, with its narrow lanes lined with blooming flowers that gave the town its name. But now, those gardens were crushed, their flowers torn from the earth and trampled beneath boots that had brought nothing but destruction. The blood-soaked soil was churned with broken petals and leaves, as if even nature itself had been violated in the carnage.

The town square, where musicians had once played and people had danced during festivals, was now eerily still. A fountain, once the pride of the town, stood cracked and dry, its basin filled with bodies instead of water. The air was thick and stagnant, a heavy silence that pressed down on them like a suffocating blanket.

Roderick, still limping but determined, glanced around, his face unreadable. "Whatever hit these towns was methodical," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This wasn't just mindless destruction. They wanted everyone to see it."

Lena swallowed hard, her throat tight with grief and fear. As they trudged through the desolate streets of Briar Glen, Lena's mind churned with questions. Who could have done this? Was it the same force that had torn through New Haven? The same shadowy figures that had wreaked havoc on her home? The destruction was eerily similar—the blood, the chaos, the overwhelming violence. But something about this felt different, almost calculated.

"Do you think..." Lena began, her voice barely above a whisper as they passed the crumbling remains of a bakery. "Do you think this was done by the same people who attacked New Haven?"

Jarin, walking beside her, glanced over, his brow furrowed in thought. "I've been wondering the same thing," he admitted, his voice low. "It looks the same... but this feels worse somehow. More deliberate."

The deeper they ventured into Briar Glen, the more surreal the devastation became. Some houses were torn apart entirely, while others stood eerily untouched, as though whatever had done this had chosen its victims with care. Lena caught sight of a small child's doll lying abandoned on the ground, its eyes staring blankly at the sky. She quickly looked away, unable to bear the emptiness in those glassy eyes.

"We need to keep moving," Edwin said, breaking the silence, his voice steady but tense. "We're too exposed here. Drakemoor isn't far now."

Lena nodded, but her gaze lingered on the ruins of Briar Glen for a moment longer. The town was a graveyard now, haunted by memories of what it had been. She hoped that Drakemoor would still stand, that they could find refuge there—but after witnessing the horrors of Grey Hollow and Briar Glen, she wasn't sure if there was any place left untouched by the darkness.

They pressed on, leaving the shattered remnants of Briar Glen behind them, the night growing darker, the air colder with each step. The road to Drakemoor was long, but they had no choice but to keep going. The only thing worse than what they had seen would be being caught in it again.

By the time they reached Drakemoor, it was midday. The sun hung high in the sky, its light muted by a thin layer of clouds that gave the entire landscape an eerie, dreamlike quality.

Lena's breath caught in her throat as they neared the entrance. The main gates were massive, made of thick iron reinforced with silver etchings that glimmered faintly in the muted light. They were adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts—winged creatures with sharp talons and fierce eyes, forever locked in battle, their forms both beautiful and terrifying. The gates seemed alive, as if they held within them the history and strength of Drakemoor itself.

Roderick whistled softly, his gaze fixed on the towering structure. "I've heard stories about Drakemoor, but seeing it... it's something else."

Edwin nodded, his expression unreadable as they approached the gates. "It's one of the oldest cities still standing. They say its walls have never been breached."

Lena wasn't sure what she expected, but as they stepped into line at the gate, the vibrant life inside the city became unmistakable. Unlike the eerie silence of the towns they had passed, Drakemoor bustled with activity. Merchants with carts full of goods waited to pass, horses clopped along the cobbled streets, and people moved through the city's grand archways, their voices filling the air. The city seemed untouched by the horrors that had devastated the surrounding lands, its streets alive with color and motion. It was almost overwhelming.

But as they waited in line, Lena couldn't shake the feeling of tension coming from Edwin. He had pulled a wide-brimmed hat low over his face, obscuring his features from view. His eyes scanned the guards posted at the gates, his body unusually stiff. Lena frowned and glanced at him. Why is he hiding?

"Next!" a voice called, breaking her thoughts.

A guard in a dark, polished uniform approached. His armor was ornate but functional, a mix of leather and metal with the crest of DrakeMoor emblazoned on his chest—a silver dragon wrapped around a shield. A long red sash hung from his shoulder, marking him as an officer. His eyes narrowed as he looked over their small group.

"State your business," he said, his voice rough but with an air of authority.

Edwin stepped forward, keeping his head low. "Just mere travelers," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

The guard's eyes lingered on Edwin for a moment, then his brow furrowed as recognition sparked in his gaze. "Wait a minute... I remember you."

Edwin stiffened, his hand moving instinctively toward his sword, but he didn't draw it.

The guard's expression darkened. "It'd be better if you turned that carriage around and never came back."

Roderick, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward. "Wait a sec," he muttered, reaching into the bag slung over his shoulder.

The guard's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're halting the line. Move along before we have trouble," he growled, glancing over his shoulder at the long line of carts and travelers waiting to enter the city.

But Roderick, ignoring him, pulled something from his bag. He held it up in the light—a gleaming bronze badge. The guard's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, his demeanor shifted from aggressive to wary.

"Ahh," the guard murmured, his gaze locking onto the badge. "A Bronze Badge," Lena thought to herself. She had never seen one up close, but she knew what it represented. Roderick outranked him. The guard had no badge, marking him as a lower-ranked officer, and it showed in his tone as he straightened up slightly.

The guard took the badge, inspecting it carefully. "Name?"

"Roderick Garet," Roderick said evenly.

The guard's fingers tightened around the badge, his eyes scanning Roderick's face, searching for any sign of deception. But when he found none, he let out a small sigh and handed the badge back. "Very well, you may pass."

Roderick took the badge without a word, tucking it back into his bag. The guard stepped aside, motioning for them to continue.

"Move along quickly," he muttered, his irritation evident. "You've already held up the line long enough."

As they passed through the gates, the noise of the bustling city washed over them. Lena leaned back in her seat, watching as the vibrant streets of Drakemoor opened up before them. The city was alive with color and motion—merchants calling out to customers, children darting between market stalls, and the occasional bard strumming a tune that mingled with the general clamor. It was almost dizzying, the sheer contrast from the silence and destruction they had left behind.

Still, Lena couldn't shake the lingering tension in the air, mostly radiating from Edwin, who had yet to take off his wide-brimmed hat. He sat stiffly in the carriage, clearly uncomfortable.

"Alright, out with it," Lena said, crossing her arms and giving Edwin a pointed look. "Why are you still hiding under that hat like you're about to be thrown into a dungeon?"

Jarin snickered from his seat, watching Edwin with amusement. "Yeah, what's the story? Because whatever it is, it's good."

Edwin groaned, finally tipping his hat up to reveal his face, looking less-than-pleased. "If you must know, I may have caused a bit of trouble the last time I was here."

"A little trouble?" Jarin asked, grinning as he leaned forward. "Do tell."

"Well," Edwin started, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, "it all started when I... accidentally got caught in the Duke's private chambers."

Roderick choked back a laugh from the driver's seat. "Accidentally?"

"Okay, fine, maybe not entirely by accident. But I swear, I was only looking for a way out after a misunderstanding with a very persistent merchant. I didn't mean to end up where I did."

Jarin leaned forward, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And how did the Duke's guards take that?"

Edwin winced. "Not well. I ended up knocking over a few priceless vases trying to explain myself. The real trouble started when the Duke's daughter happened to walk in right as I was being dragged out. Long story short, I saved her from a group of thugs in the market earlier that day, and she spoke up on my behalf. That's the only reason I didn't end up in a cell."

Lena shook her head in disbelief. "So, let me get this straight—you broke into the Duke's chambers, smashed some of his valuables, but also saved his daughter, and now you're banned from the city?"

Edwin grinned sheepishly. "Not banned per se, just... strongly advised to never show my face again."

Jarin burst out laughing. "You're unbelievable."

Edwin smirked, finally relaxing a bit. "Well, what can I say? I make an impression."

Lena couldn't help but laugh too. "I'm starting to think you enjoy getting into trouble."

"Only when it's worth it," Edwin replied with a wink, tipping his hat down again.

Lena glanced up at Roderick, He's awfully quiet, she thought.

 Normally, he'd have thrown in a sarcastic remark or a disapproving grunt, but today, not a word. His silence was hard to ignore.

Something about the way he kept his eyes on the road told Lena now wasn't the time to ask.

As the carriage rattled into the heart of the city, the group eventually found an inn on a quiet side street, tucked away from the hustle of the marketplace. The inn, called The Wolf and Moon, was a cozy, warm-looking place with a creaky wooden sign swaying in the wind. It seemed like the perfect spot to lay low for the night after the tension at the gates.

The inn was quieter than most, likely because it was still the middle of the day. Most of the patrons had either gone about their business or were resting themselves. The soft crackling of the fire and the murmur of a few low conversations provided a welcome calm after the noise and tension of the city outside. Inside, the inn was just as welcoming as it appeared. A hearth glowed warmly, casting flickers of golden light across the room. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, promising comfort and respite.

As the group entered, the innkeeper—a middle-aged woman with graying hair neatly tied back—looked up from where she stood behind the bar, polishing mugs. Her eyes were sharp but kind, and a welcoming smile spread across her face. She wiped her hands on her apron and approached them.

"Welcome to The Wolf and Moon," she said, her voice carrying the warmth of someone who'd run the place for years. "You'll be wanting rooms, I expect?"

Edwin nodded, reaching into his coin pouch. "Two rooms, please. We'll be staying the night and could use a meal as well."

The innkeeper's smile deepened, and she gave a knowing nod. "Ah, travelers, are ye? You've come to the right place then. I've got two rooms upstairs—cozy, but clean—and the stew's fresh off the fire."

As she spoke, the innkeeper's gaze lingered on Lena for a moment, her sharp eyes taking in the dust and dirt from the road. Lena felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. She suddenly became painfully aware of how travel-worn she must look—her hair tangled, her clothes covered in the grime of the journey, and her face probably smeared with dirt. Compared to the warm, inviting interior of the inn, she felt utterly out of place.

Before Lena could say anything, the innkeeper added kindly, "And I'll draw you a bath if you like, miss. It's been a long day, I'm sure."

Lena's cheeks reddened even further. She hadn't expected the offer, and now, feeling more self-conscious than ever, she nodded quickly. "Thank you, that would be wonderful," she managed to reply, her voice slightly sheepish.

The innkeeper smiled, clearly unfazed. "No trouble at all, dear. I'll get it ready for you."

"Well, I'll get things sorted," the innkeeper said, already bustling back toward the bar. "You lot take a seat and rest up. I'll have your rooms ready soon."

The group made their way to a corner table, away from the few other patrons murmuring quietly at their own tables. Lena sank into the chair, feeling the tension of the road melt away in the welcoming atmosphere. Roderick and Jarin settled down beside her, while Edwin leaned back in his chair, looking far more relaxed now that they were inside and out of sight.

Before long, the innkeeper returned, wiping her hands on her apron again. "Alright, I've got two rooms set up for you. One's for the lady, and the other for the gentlemen. The bath will be ready shortly. Anything else you'll be needing?"

Edwin gave her a polite nod. "Just something hot to eat after we've had a chance to freshen up."

"Of course, of course," the innkeeper said with a smile. "I'll have the stew ready when you come down. Take your time, now."

She handed Edwin the keys to the rooms, and the group made their way up the creaky staircase. The second floor of the inn was just as cozy as the downstairs—wood-paneled walls with heavy curtains hanging by the windows. The hallway led to two small, tidy rooms, each with simple but comfortable-looking beds.

"We three can take this one," Edwin said, gesturing toward the room to the left for Roderick and Jarin. "Lena, you'll have the room across the hall."

Lena nodded gratefully. "I could use the bath," she admitted, feeling the grime of the road heavy on her skin.

"Let's meet back down here for dinner after we're all cleaned up," Jarin suggested, already stretching out on one of the beds in their shared room.

Lena smiled and made her way into her own room. It was small but comfortable, with a bed that looked much softer than the ground she had been sleeping on for what felt like forever. She sat on the edge for a moment, letting herself relax before the sound of a soft knock on the door broke her reverie. The innkeeper stood there, a steaming bucket of hot water in hand.

"Your bath's ready, dear," she said, ushering Lena into a small washroom adjacent to her room. "Just ring if you need anything else."

The door creaked open, and the innkeeper stepped inside with a steaming bucket of hot water in her hands. "Your bath, miss," she said with a kind smile, nodding toward a small area in the corner of the room that was separated by a modest wooden screen.

Lena hadn't noticed it before, but now her eyes followed the innkeeper's gesture. Behind the screen, a simple wash area had been prepared—a wooden tub sat nestled in the corner, half-filled with water from the inn's well. The steam rising from the bucket in the innkeeper's hands suggested she'd been heating the water over the fire downstairs, and the combined warmth from the bath and the glow from the hearth made the whole space feel even cozier.

The screen itself was made of lightly stained wood, tall enough to offer privacy but not so large as to take up too much space. A curtain of light linen draped over it, adding a soft, feminine touch to the room. The gentle shadows cast by the screen created a secluded nook for bathing, a peaceful retreat from the world outside.

The innkeeper crossed the room and began pouring the hot water into the tub, the steam curling into the air as the warm water met the cooler bath already in place. "There we are," she said, setting the bucket aside. "It should be just right for you now. Take your time, dear."

Lena smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

The innkeeper gave a knowing nod. "No need to rush. I'll have your dinner ready for you downstairs when you're finished. Just ring if you need anything."

With a final smile, she left Lena alone, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Lena stood for a moment, looking at the small, inviting bath area behind the screen. The soft glow of the room, combined with the rising steam, made it feel like a private sanctuary. She moved toward it slowly, already feeling the tension in her muscles begin to ease at the thought of soaking in the hot water. Peeling off her dusty clothes, she slipped behind the screen and lowered herself into the tub, the warmth enveloping her like a soothing embrace.

Lena sat in the wooden tub, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped loosely around them. The warm water lapped at her skin, steam curling softly in the air around her. Her head rested gently on her knees, eyes closed, as she allowed herself to sink deeper into the soothing warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, the exhaustion from days of travel and the tension of constant danger began to fade.

But her mind wouldn't settle. Her thoughts drifted, swirling like the steam above the water. She kept replaying everything that had happened—the attack on New Haven, the eerie emptiness of the towns they had passed, and the constant sense of dread hanging over them. What was next? she wondered. Would Drakemoor truly be a safe haven for them, or was it just another fleeting stop before the next wave of uncertainty?

The shadows of her worries hung heavily over her, and just as she began to lose herself in the questions spinning through her mind, a knock at the door startled her back to reality.

"Lena, we're heading downstairs. Come down when you're done," Jarin's familiar voice called through the door, his tone light but carrying the same underlying tension they all shared.

Lena blinked, lifting her head from her knees. Already? she thought, slightly surprised. They're all done already? A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pictured Jarin lounging downstairs, already halfway through a drink, and Roderick probably grumbling about something, as usual.

Once dry, Lena slipped into the soft white underdress that had been laid out for her, the light fabric cool against her skin.. As she was adjusting the garment, something on the small wooden table near the bed caught her eye—a folded piece of paper, slightly worn but deliberately placed. She frowned, stepping over to it.

Curiosity prickled at her as she picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was a poster—likely from a local shop. The name "Silverleaf Jewelers" was printed in elegant script across the top, accompanied by a sketch of sparkling rings and necklaces displayed in a shop window. The image was simple, yet refined, the kind of place that catered to the wealthier citizens of Drakemoor.

Lena raised an eyebrow, unsure why the innkeeper would leave something like this in her room. She was about to set it aside when a small scribble in the bottom corner of the poster caught her eye. At first, she thought it was just a mark or a smudge, but when she looked closer, her breath hitched.

It was a note—a tiny, almost unnoticeable message scribbled in a language that looked hauntingly familiar.

Lena's heart quickened. She squinted at the symbols, her mind flashing back to the journals they had found in the ruined towns. It was the same language—the mysterious script she hadn't been able to decipher, but had seen scattered throughout the remnants of destruction and chaos they'd left behind. She recognized the sharp, flowing lines immediately.

"What in the world...?" she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the delicate lines of the note. She couldn't read it, not yet, but just seeing it here, in this place, sent a chill down her spine.

Lena turned the poster over, looking for more clues, but there was nothing else—just the simple drawing of the jewelry shop, and that cryptic message hidden in the corner. Her mind raced with questions. Was this a coincidence? Or was someone leaving her a message? The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt.

Lena's heart raced as she stared at the cryptic note on the poster. Her mind buzzed with a million thoughts, questions swirling about why this particular message, in that strange script, had been left for her. She couldn't shake the eerie familiarity of it. The language—the same one she'd seen in the journals back in the ruined towns—seemed to follow her, even here in the seemingly peaceful city of Drakemoor.

Not waiting another moment, she hurriedly folded the poster and tucked it under her arm. Her pulse quickened as she threw on her cloak, the need to share what she'd found with the others gnawing at her. She practically rushed out of the room, the door creaking shut behind her as she descended the stairs two at a time.

Downstairs, the inn was buzzing more than before, with patrons coming in from the streets for an early dinner. Lena spotted Jarin, Roderick, and Edwin seated at a table by the hearth, already halfway through their drinks. Jarin caught sight of her first, raising an eyebrow as she approached in a hurry.

"Jarin, look!" Lena said, nearly breathless as she reached their table. She unfolded the poster, revealing the cryptic message in the corner. "There's something strange here—it's in the same language as the journals we found. You need to see this."

Edwin and Roderick, who had no knowledge of the journals or the strange symbols they had found during their journey, leaned forward, curious. Lena was about to explain everything—about the journals, the destroyed towns, and how this mysterious script seemed to follow them—when the peaceful murmur of the inn was broken by a loud, obnoxious voice from across the room.

"Well, look at what we have here!" a man's voice bellowed, cutting through the air like a sharp edge.

Lena turned, already irritated, and saw a scruffy-looking man sitting at a nearby table, his broad grin directed squarely at her. His eyes roamed over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be sitting with these roughnecks," he slurred, his words thick with drink.

Lena stiffened, suddenly all too aware of her damp hair clinging to her neck and her white underdress, still wet from the bath, sticking to her skin. It clung to her in a way that made her feel exposed, and she could feel the man's gaze lingering far too long.

Before she could respond, Edwin leaned back in his chair, sensing the rising tension. He gave the man a lazy, mischievous grin, tipping his hat up just enough to show the glint in his eyes. "You really don't want to keep pushing this," he said calmly, though his voice carried an unmistakable warning.

But the man was either too drunk or too foolish to notice the shift in the mood. He stood up from his table, swaggering over to them, his eyes still on Lena. "Come on now, sweetheart," he said, leaning on the back of an empty chair at their table. "No need to be shy. Why don't you come sit with me and my friends?"

Lena clenched her fists, feeling the heat rise to her face, partly from embarrassment and partly from anger. Before she could say anything, Edwin smoothly shrugged off his coat and handed it to her without a word, his eyes never leaving the man. Lena gratefully took it, slipping it on to cover herself as she felt the wet fabric of her dress clinging to her skin.

Jarin, watching the whole scene unfold, was already on edge. His casual demeanor shifted as he straightened in his seat, ready to jump in if needed.

The man, emboldened by the silence, grinned wider. "See? I'm just trying to be friendly," he said, his voice oozing with false charm.

Roderick, who had been sitting quietly, suddenly stood, his broad frame towering over the man. His expression was cold, and the intensity in his eyes made the man falter for just a second. "I suggest you walk away," Roderick said, his voice low and controlled, but the threat was clear.

That was all it took. Before anyone could react, Jarin was on his feet, stepping up beside Roderick, his hand resting dangerously close to the hilt of his dagger. "You'll wish you had," Jarin said, his voice dark and steady.

The man's eyes darted between the two of them—Roderick's sheer size and Jarin's barely-contained anger—before he realized he was outmatched. He raised his hands in mock surrender, a nervous laugh escaping him. "Alright, alright," he muttered, backing away slowly. "No need for all that. I'll just... get back to my table."

As the man slinked back to his table, Edwin's eyes followed him, his gaze sharp and unwavering. Though his posture remained relaxed, there was a steely glint in his eyes that hadn't faded. It was the kind of look that made even the most stubborn men reconsider their actions. Lena, still pulling Edwin's coat tighter around herself, caught sight of his stare and felt a shiver run down her spine.

For a moment, the easygoing, mischievous Edwin she was used to disappeared. His expression reminded her all too clearly of the man she had seen in New Haven—the one who had fought with a fierce determination, his focus deadly and his moves precise. That same intensity now flickered behind his eyes as he watched the drunk man shuffle away, clearly aware of how close he had come to making a grave mistake.

Lena could see it—how Edwin had calculated everything in the blink of an eye, how he'd weighed every possible outcome before letting the man walk away. Even though Roderick and Jarin had been the ones to rise, the unspoken threat that Edwin could unleash was just as present, hovering beneath the surface.

"Some people never learn," Lena muttered again, her voice quieter this time.

Edwin's gaze finally softened, the playful grin slipping back onto his face as if nothing had happened. He turned to her, his eyes bright again, tipping his hat in her direction. "You alright?" he asked, the tension around the table easing now that the threat had passed.

Lena nodded, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I'll go get dressed," she said softly,

Roderick nodded, still tense but calm, while Jarin gave her a casual wave. "We'll keep the table warm for you."

Lena quickly made her way upstairs, grateful for the chance to escape the crowded room for a moment. Once back in her room, she slipped out of the damp underdress, letting it fall into a heap on the floor, and changed into a fresh set of clothes. The soft fabric of her tunic and trousers felt much more comfortable, and the familiar weight of her belt around her waist made her feel more like herself again. She smoothed her hair, still damp but drying quickly now, and took a deep breath before heading back downstairs.

When Lena returned to the inn's common room, the mood had shifted. The night had fully settled in, and the hearth cast long, flickering shadows across the wooden beams. The once-crowded room was starting to thin out, and the chatter had quieted to a low murmur. The innkeeper moved about, clearing tables and refilling mugs, while the remaining patrons talked in hushed voices.

As she approached their table, Lena noticed that Edwin was missing, but their food had already been laid out—a hearty spread of stew, bread, and ale. She slid into her seat, glancing at the empty chair where Edwin had been sitting.

"Where's Edwin?" she asked, her voice a little more relaxed now that she was dressed and the unsettling encounter with the drunk man was behind her.

Jarin, leaning back in his chair with a mug in hand, glanced toward the inn's back door. "He's in the lavatory," he said with a smirk, taking a sip of ale. "Probably taking longer than usual"

Roderick, who had returned to his usual quiet, simply nodded, his focus more on the food than on the conversation.

Lena chuckled, though she couldn't help but still feel a bit of that lingering tension from earlier. She reached for her spoon and began eating, letting the warmth of the stew spread through her, easing the last of her nerves. The quiet of the night and the comforting atmosphere of the inn helped soothe her mind, though her thoughts kept wandering back to the note she had found.

Moments later, Edwin returned, strolling casually back to the table as if nothing had happened. He sat down, running a hand through his hair and flashing them all his usual easygoing grin. "Miss me?"

Lena rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You took your time."

"Had to gather my thoughts," Edwin replied, winking before reaching for his own bowl of stew.

They ate quietly for a while, the steady rhythm of spoons clinking against bowls the only sound between them. Outside, the night had deepened, and the quiet hum of the city beyond the inn's walls only made the warmth of the fire and the glow of the common room feel more secluded, more intimate. It was a moment of peace they hadn't had in days, and for a brief time, it almost felt like the dangers they had been running from were far away.

Lena looked at the three of them—Roderick, Edwin, and Jarin—before finally reaching into her bag and pulling out the folded poster she had discovered earlier.

She unfolded the poster, laying it flat on the table in front of them. The name "Silverleaf Jewelers" gleamed in elegant script across the top, but her fingers pointed to the bottom corner where the strange symbols were scrawled.

"This is what I found in my room earlier," she explained, tapping the cryptic message. "It's the same language we saw in the journals"

Jarin leaned forward, studying the writing with a frown. "You're sure?"

Lena nodded. "Absolutely. I don't know what it says, but I know it's the same"

Edwin raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Journals?" he asked, his tone curious. "What journals?"

Lena glanced at Jarin, who gave her a subtle nod, before turning back to Edwin and Roderick. She hadn't told them everything before, but now, it seemed like the right time. They needed to know.

"It was something we found back in my home," Lena began, her voice a little quieter, as if she were trying to gather her thoughts. 

Roderick looked intrigued, and Edwin crossed his arms, waiting for her to continue.

Lena took a deep breath and started explaining. "Jarin and I found a hidden cabinet. It was... strange. I'd lived in that house my whole life and never knew it was there."

Jarin nodded, picking up where she left off. "Inside, there were these old journals,and Maps worn and covered in dust. But the thing that stood out the most was the language they were written in—this strange, ancient script. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it before."

Lena reached into her bag again, pulling out one of the journals they had salvaged, its pages yellowed with age and the cover cracked. She placed it on the table, flipping it open to one of the pages where the same cryptic symbols were scrawled.

Edwin's eyes widened as he leaned in, studying the page. "And you found this in your house?" he asked, his tone more serious now.

Lena nodded. "Yeah. I don't know why my family had them, or what they mean, but I think they're connected to everything that's happening—the attacks, the destruction, and now this." She pointed to the cryptic note on the Silverleaf Jewelers poster. "It's the same language"

Roderick furrowed his brow, his eyes shifting from the journal to the poster. "But how did that poster even end up in your room?" he asked, his voice calm but tinged with suspicion. "It wasn't just left out in the open. Someone placed it there for you."

Lena shook her head, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I don't know." 

Lena leaned forward, tapping the name of the shop on the poster with her finger. "But what I do know is that I want to go here."

Edwin, who had been quietly watching the exchange, finally sat back in his chair and stretched his arms. "Well, before we go storming into the shop, it might be worth asking the innkeeper about the poster. If someone's sneaking things into your room, they might know something."

Jarin nodded in agreement, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Good idea. If the innkeeper knows who comes and goes, maybe they saw something—or someone. Whoever left that note didn't do it by accident."

Roderick, still frowning, glanced at the poster again before looking back at Lena. "If we're being watched, we need to tread carefully. Whoever's pulling the strings knows more than they're letting on."

Lena clenched her jaw, a determined look flashing across her face. "Then let's get to the bottom of this."

With the night drawing closer, the group began planning for the next steps, the flickering firelight reflecting the uncertainty ahead.