Lucas let out a long breath as he and Lena finally stepped into the familiar warmth of the inn. The scent of ale, roasted meat, and faint traces of damp wood greeted them, a comforting contrast to the unsettling encounter earlier.
"Home sweet home," Lena muttered, stretching her arms above her head before flopping into one of the chairs by the common room's fireplace. "I think I've had enough cultists for a lifetime."
Lucas didn't respond. His mind was still occupied with the eerie whisper that had slithered into his thoughts. Everything is balanced. I let you be, you let me be. The words lingered like a stain in his memory, sending an occasional chill down his spine.
"You're doing that thing again," Lena said, eyeing him with amusement.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you go all broody and mysterious like you're the protagonist of a tragic ballad."
Lucas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just tired."
