The city of Greshan never truly slept.
Even under the dark velvet sky, its streets hummed with life—muted and rhythmic. Lanterns swung from poles. Campfires burned low near traveler tents.
Conversations whispered from merchant circles, dice clicked across tavern tables, and mercenaries drank under moonlight while keeping one eye open.
But for Damien, none of that mattered.
He had watched Arielle vanish into the roads beyond Greshan with Aquila, Zeke, and Lira. Watched them turn the corner into shadows.
And when the silence swallowed her final footstep, Damien turned around and walked back inside the inn without a word.
He said nothing to Lyone, who was still wide awake and idly counting coins like a child trying to fall asleep with gold fever.
He simply entered the room, shut the door, removed his coat, and lay flat on the thin mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
A long breath left his chest.
Sleep didn't come quickly.
But eventually, it did.
