The market square was alive with the mundane, rhythmic hustle of daily life, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that radiated from the small group of men moving through the stalls. Derek stood near the central fountain, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture rigid. He watched as Captain Odis's men approached vendor after vendor, holding up a small, framed portrait of Marissa that was painted quickly but accurately from memory.
"Did you see this lady here during the festival?" a guard asked a woman selling apples.
The woman squinted at the painting, wiping her hands on her apron. She shook her head. "No, I haven't."
The guard moved on. "Did you see her?"
"A hundred people come to my shop to buy things every day," a shopkeeper snapped, clearly annoyed by the interruption to his business. He waved a hand dismissively. "I can't memorize each and every one of their faces. Do you think I have nothing better to do than stare at customers?"
