Deya had been running nonstop for seven days and seven nights.
She was exhausted.
Never had she gone so long without adequate sleep.
She sighed.
As she sat in the dimly lit tavern, shadows playing across the wooden walls, the scent of roasting meat and ale filled the air.
The chatter of tired travelers and rowdy drunks formed a constant background hum.
The place was alive, alive with stories, with secrets, and with the weariness of those who had seen too much.
Deya reeked of sweat, her stomach growled in hunger.
What could she do at the moment?
The traders were after her.
The Travelers were after her.
Heck, even bounty hunters.
She hadn't had a moment's rest. If she had known what an important person he had been, maybe she wouldn't have killed him so publicly.