Chapter 32: Silver to the Widow
"So? What do we do with the money?" Rose asked, walking beside him with a faint bounce in her step, the clinking of coin pouches echoing from them.
Corven smiled, the kind that said he already had it figured out. "Three hundred and fifty silver for our own leisure," he said, tapping his pouch. "And the other hundred fifty for the house we visited back in that rural village."
Rose tilted his head at him, half-curious, half-amused.
"Look at you, acting like a saint again," she teased, smirking.
Corven let out a short laugh. "I truly wish I could believe your words."
She smirked wider. "Am I having a sense of déjà vu from this conversation?"
Corven shrugged, eyes glancing to the side. "You’re not alone with that."
With that, the two headed off, their pace unhurried but purposeful. This time, they had a different goal in mind—Corven’s goal. He wanted to find someone trustworthy—or at least, willing—to deliver the silver back to that quiet village, the one with the widow and her broken home. So they began asking around, approaching stalls and chatting up locals in between the noisy bustle of the district.
The air reeked of roasted spices, cheap ale, and smoke from half-charred meat skewers. A one-eyed hawker shouted about miracle talismans while two vampiric children darted through the crowd, chasing a ball of string.
Surprisingly, it didn’t take long.