Isolde's pale eyes followed Adam as they descended the narrow staircase, her gaze lingering on the back of his head. Her voice, when it came, was quiet, almost reluctant.
"You're not worried they'll try something? Croft's men are dangerous."
Adam glanced back at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"More dangerous than me?"
Isolde's lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing.
The common room was mostly empty now, the few remaining patrons hunched over their drinks, lost in their own troubles.
The innkeeper watched them pass.
The streets of Kaelthar were quieter now, the shadows longer. Lanterns swayed overhead, casting pools of amber light across the cobblestones. A few figures hurried past, faces hidden, steps quick.
Adam found the fountain with the broken angel, a cracked stone figure, its wings chipped, its face worn smooth by weather and neglect. He turned left, following the scent of tannery.
"Smells terrible," Isolde murmured, pulling her hood higher.
