That night, in a warm and cramped wooden room, Alaric sat on an old chair, observing the townspeople busily moving back and forth. The cold air slipped in, but the warmth from the fireplace in the corner drove away the chill. Around him, several locals sat at tables, speaking in low voices, almost whispering, as if afraid something outside might overhear them.
Alaric sensed something different about this town. Ever since he arrived, he had felt watched. Every glance from the townsfolk seemed laden with meaning, as if they knew something he did not. "Is everyone always this tense?" Alaric asked casually, directing his question to an old man sitting near the fireplace, attempting to lighten the mood.
