The next morning, I stepped out of the tavern, inhaling the stale air of the town. The wind was dry and lifeless, as if carrying whispers of decay. A stark reminder of the place we had found ourselves in.
I stretched my arms, shaking off the remnants of sleep. The night had been uneventful—surprisingly so. No attacks, no disturbances, just silence. But there was something different about the townsfolk today. Their gazes had changed.
Unlike the wary glances of yesterday, today they watched us. More intensely. More frequently.
I felt their stares prickling against my skin.
I sighed.
'People are always the same, aren't they? Fear first. Hatred second.'
Behind me, the sound of footsteps echoed.
I turned to find Priscilla approaching, her steps small and reserved. She had her hands clasped in front of her, a habit I had noticed she did when nervous.
"Good morning," she greeted softly.
I smiled. "Good morning! By the way, how was your night?"
Her lips twitched into a wry smile.
