The bar was alive the moment Marcus pushed through its double doors. Noise slammed into him first—laughter, drunken shouts, the clang of mugs, the crack of dice against wooden tables. Music drifted above it all, sharp and steady, violins weaving with the deep pulse of drums, a rhythm that seemed to grip the heart and drag it along.
Marcus paused just long enough to take in the scene. Lantern light flickered across the crowded room, bouncing from bottles stacked high behind the bar to the polished floor sticky with spilled liquor. Shadows and color danced in equal measure, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the bitter tang of strong ale.
He stepped in fully, slipping into the flow of the crowd with practiced ease. Shoulders brushed him, men staggered past, women laughed loud and bright. For a moment, Marcus let himself loosen. His head bobbed to the beat, his hand tapped against his thigh, and when the drums picked up, he even let out a small laugh.
