The scent of simmering broth and freshly baked bread wafted through the air as evening deepened, and the din of the Hearthhall's dining room began to swell. The once-quiet inn was now lively, voices overlapping, mugs clinking, and utensils clattering against plates. Luke and Ilyrana made their way downstairs, blending into the bustle with the practised ease of travellers who knew how to avoid standing out.
They took a seat in the far corner, one of the few dimly lit tables tucked against the wooden wall, away from the hearth where most of the patrons had gathered. Luke sat with his back to the room, not out of caution, but to give Ilyrana the comfort of obscuring her features. Even indoors, she kept her hood drawn low—not from paranoia, but necessity. In a world that rarely saw elves, especially in towns like these, curiosity could easily become unwanted attention.
