The city was cloaked in the soft glow of dusk, the streets humming with quiet activity as merchants packed up their wares and weary travelers sought the warmth of inns. Winter's Crown was a city attempting to return to normalcy, but for Damien, peace was an illusion.
In the safe house, Damien, Amara, and Carys gathered around the table, the faint flicker of the lantern casting shadows on their faces. The tension was palpable, a weight they all carried in silence as they reviewed the latest reports from their network of informants.
Carys, her green eyes narrowed in concentration, traced her finger over a map of the city's districts. "There's been increased movement near the southern docks," she said. "Unusual shipments, late-night meetings. It's subtle, but it's there."
Amara leaned back in her chair, her sharp blue eyes glinting. "Sounds like someone's trying to stay under the radar. Smugglers again, or something worse?"
