Chapter 9: How to Give the Perfect Gift to a Spider
That night, I was going after money — even if it cost me my life. Or, you know, the few hit points I had left.
The night dropped over the village like a thick velvet blanket, muffling the last sounds of life. I already knew what I was going to do. Slipped through the shadows between the alleys, every step carefully placed on the damp gravel until I got there: the tavern.
The back door of the tavern was like a shared secret between me and Lina — even if she didn't know it yet.
The wood was damp, smelling of stale beer and firewood smoke soaked deep into the grain. I placed my hand on the knob carefully, like I was cracking open someone's diary. The rusty metal squealed, a polite little warning, but I twisted harder until the latch gave way with a satisfying click.
That's when I stepped in.
Inside, the tavern was another world — stuffy, warm, and buzzing. The gloom was broken by the flickering flames of oil lamps clinging to crooked iron mounts on the walls. The smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and burnt wood created the kind of alchemy only a rundown village tavern could summon.
There were stacked crates, barrels stamped with half-faded transport brands, and dirty rags hanging like makeshift curtains between the back and the main room.
The wooden floor creaked under my silent steps. I could hear voices laughing on the other side of the wall. The tune of a badly tuned flute mingled with the laughter — the sound of a night lived by people who had already drowned their broken hearts and betrayals in cheap drinks.
I passed a pile of crates and turned into a narrow corridor that led... somewhere. That's when I pulled back a thick linen curtain — and almost tripped over destiny.
"AAAAH!"
Lina.