As Fenrir and his companions stepped out of the inn, the air outside felt heavy, laden with an unspoken tension. The streets of Chashire, which had seemed so vibrant during the day, now bore a stark, oppressive stillness.
The usual bustle of merchants, nobility, and servants was subdued, as though the entire town had collectively decided to keep their heads down and avoid unnecessary interaction.
Fenrir wheeled himself forward, his sharp eyes taking in every detail—the wary glances cast in their direction, the hushed whispers exchanged as they passed, and the pointed avoidance of the townspeople.
It was as if they carried an invisible mark, a sign that set them apart as outsiders not to be trusted.
Rui walked slightly ahead, her posture relaxed but her sharp tongue eager to strike. "Such a friendly town," she remarked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You'd think we brought the plague with how they're avoiding eye contact."
