Night fell over Thornwick like a curtain.
The group had spent four hours walking through disappearance sites—empty homes, abandoned alleyways, sealed sewer entrances.
By the time they reached the only inn still operating in the district—a three-story building called the Pale Mare—everyone was tired, dirty, and irritable.
The lobby was small but clean. Warm light from wall sconces. A wooden counter. A young woman with auburn hair and a tired smile standing behind it.
"Five rooms," Byron announced, approaching the counter with a disgusted expression. "Separate. Clean. Hot water if you have it. Also, any luxury still available"
The receptionist tapped at a ledger. "I have three rooms available. Two singles on the third floor, one larger room on the second."
"Three," Byron repeated flatly. "There are five of us."
"Thornwick isn't exactly a tourist destination right now, sir."
Byron's eye twitched.
Before he could argue, Sage moved.
