The tavern was a living thing tonight—warm, humming, full of the slow burn of voices softened by ale. It was not loud, not raucous, but settled. The kind of evening where the regulars lingered, their laughter lower, their drinks nursed instead of knocked back.
Taryn realized, almost for the first time, she liked nights like this. The lulls. The ease. The lack of knives being drawn across tables.
She moved behind the bar, the worn wood familiar under her palms, pouring drinks with a steady hand, her senses stretched just enough to track the room. No threats. No trouble. Just warmth. Just quiet.
At least, for now.
Kah'el, stationed at his usual post against the far wall, was watching everything. Arms crossed, his stance casual but never careless. His gaze flicked over patrons in slow, practiced sweeps. A predator at rest, but never unguarded.
Taryn exhaled, shaking her head. The quiet would not last.
Because there was one person notably missing from her line of sight.
Lucien.
