The fire crackled softly, its flames licking the air, casting long shadows that danced along the wooden walls of the humble inn. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of the hearth competing against the encroaching darkness of night.
Yara lay sprawled on a rough-hewn table, her damp hair fanning out beneath her, skin still fresh from the bath she had taken earlier. Her breathing was steady, soft, and unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.
Beside her, the dragon was equally motionless, his broad frame rising and falling with each deep breath, his heavy limbs draped haphazardly across the table.
The figure by the door slipped inside silently. It was the man who had led them into the village earlier that day. His eyes swept the room, narrowing at the sight of the uneaten food. He let out a soft hiss of frustration, his lips curving into a frown. "Didn't touch it..." he muttered under his breath, his voice low.
