Chapter 47: How to Outdrink a Liar and Outtalk the Truth (2)
The bar was wide, but suffocating — the kind of place where the low ceiling and wooden walls made every laugh feel more intimate, and every lie more acceptable.
There was the smell of old beer, cheap perfume, and worn-out leather from chairs that had seen more conspiracy than comfort.
At the tables, voices tangled in tense murmurs, glasses clinked in nervous hands, and everyone seemed to know something — or pretended they did.
In the middle of it all, Thalia moved like a seasoned expert. Impeccable posture, measured smile, the kind of velvet voice that learns to negotiate before it learns to ask.
And me... I watched from a distance, leaning against a pillar with an empty glass, invisible enough to hear everything without being invited.
Thalia didn’t include me in the dynamic. No exchanged glances. No silent check-ins. No space for me to steer the wheel.
I’d dug the tunnel. Now she was decorating the room and choosing the furniture.
And, to be fair, it was kind of working.
A man approached her. White hair. Clothes of someone who used to have money, but still held himself with dignity. Maybe a retired councilman. Maybe just an accountant with a good memory. He touched her shoulder lightly and introduced himself as Magistrate Rhenmar.
Great. A name. That might be useful.
Thalia began chatting with him, laughing softly, asking questions with that melodic tone — the one she never used on me, by the way. The old man leaned in. Spoke more than he should. Loose tongue, alert heart. His eyes fixed on her like he was mistaking beauty for credibility.