The group, laughing and chatting, entered the tavern.
Behind the bar, a man reclined with his feet propped up, seemingly napping.
"That's the owner, Helion," one of Mason's teammates explained. "He used to be HER adjutant."
With a sharp knock on the counter, the teammate called out, "Helion! Two cases of dark beer, three spicy tender beef sandwiches, a large cheese-dusted fries, and three bowls of oyster chowder. Oh, and what about you guys?"
"Anything's fine," the others replied nonchalantly.
Helion groggily got to his feet, effortlessly hefting the beer cases while shouting toward the kitchen, "Chef, get to work!"
A calm male voice answered from the back, "On it."
Tyler, trailing behind the group, hesitated at the door. 'Is it my imagination, or did the owner, Helion, give me an oddly lingering look?'
