The common room of the inn buzzed with a quiet tension, lit by the warm flicker of lanterns swaying gently from wooden beams. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. Mikhailis sat slouched in his chair, his legs stretched out, his usual nonchalance masking the sharp focus in his eyes. He adjusted his glasses slightly, letting the faint glow of Rodion's projections reflect off the lenses, a subtle reminder of his secret edge.
Estella stood at the head of the table, her posture firm, every movement deliberate as though she were delivering a presentation to a royal court rather than a group gathered in an inn's common room. Her voice carried a steady conviction, underpinned by the weight of her findings.
