Chapter 28: Mysterious Cult Signs
"You’re sure this is drinkable?" Frank squinted at the glass Lira shoved into his hand.
"It’s not poison," she said, grinning. "Mostly."
They sat at a low-lit table in the corner of the Rustbrine Tavern, one of the safer—and less vomit-scented—spots near the Hollowtrade Nexus. Hazen was leaned back, arms crossed, boots kicked up. Dren stood at the bar, silently watching the door like he expected something to come through it and explode.
"You’re lucky," Lira said to Frank, swirling her drink. "Most newbies get hazed. We didn’t even make you carry the heavy packs."
"Or sweep traps with your face," Hazen added dryly.
Frank smirked. "Yeah. I’m overwhelmed by how welcoming you’ve all been."
Hazen raised his glass. "To clean runs and unexpected allies."
They all clinked glasses.
Frank took a sip, then immediately set his down. "That tastes like regret and burnt cherries."
"Exactly," Lira said, pleased. "You’ll get used to it."
The table quieted after that. A comfortable silence. One that only follows a well-earned victory.