The Next Morning – Central Market Tea Stand, Iron Hearth
The scent of simmering barley tea mingled with the dusty morning air as vendors finished setting up their stalls. Beneath a patched canvas awning, three middle-aged men sat on crude wooden stools, sipping from steaming clay cups.
"Hey," one of them said, glancing around before leaning in. "Is it true? I heard two Iron Shield gangsters were arrested—in the middle of the damn market."
"True as daylight," replied the second man, who lived a few streets away from the square. "I saw it myself. The ones in those deep navy uniforms—the 'Officers of the Law,' they call themselves. Took them down clean. No swords, no nobles, just batons and guts."
The third man, older and a bit stockier, leaned forward with a grin. "You think that's wild? I went to Station A this morning. Just to see if it was real."
"You went?" the first man asked, eyebrows raised. "Why?"
