Riley's frown deepened as unease twisted in his stomach. The camaraderie of the tavern, the shared stories and laughter, had always been a source of comfort for him.
But this was different. There was a strange rhythm to it all, a pulse of anxiety lurking beneath the smiles. He could feel it building like a storm, barely contained.
As he made his way to the bar, he caught snippets of conversation.
"The harvest has never been better!" boasted a man whose voice boomed with exaggerated excitement. "Aren't we the luckiest folks in the land?"
Riley clenched his jaw. He knew the village too well—the harvest had been meager for years, blighted by disease and weather. This exuberance was nothing short of a lie, and yet the entire tavern seemed swept up in it.
