Jason should have gone back to the inn.
His body was exhausted. His eyes were heavy. The cold night air had done its job—clearing his head, settling his nerves—and now every instinct told him to climb the stairs, curl up on the floor beside Ylva, and sleep until noon.
But Jason didn't listen to his instincts. He never did.
Instead, he turned left at the crossroads instead of right. Away from the Feather's Rest. Deeper into the adventurer's district.
The streets were empty, the lanterns low, but Jason felt no fear. He had nothing to lose. His pockets were empty. His body was bruised. His face was still swollen from Ylva's morning punch. And according to Thalion, this was a no-kill zone—at least within the taverns and inns that followed guild rules.
Of course, since when had rules stopped anybody from breaking them?
Jason shoved his hands into his pockets and walked.
