The inn is a perfect place to hole up and rest.
The smell of fresh-baked bread and steak fills the air. The sound of people enjoying themselves, and the staff rushing to fulfill the orders, create an ambiance that's lively but comfortable. The floor is clean, the beds are soft, the bar is well stocked.
The front desk is managed by a helpful, polite, and cheeky young man named Craig, and his siblings.
The second the voice reaches my ears, however, all of these observations go out the window. The only thing in my head is:
...shit.
I feel my back muscles go rigid as a hand rests on my shoulder. It's an arrogant, condescending, aggravating, heavy and unwelcome touch. I want to rip the hand off.
Instead, I remain still, forcing my expression to be neutral.
"You know her?" Lucas asks.
