Rust Alley lived up to its name.
By the time Quinn and Azra turned the final corner, the cobblestones had given way to cracked bricks and narrow, crooked streets. The air smelled of old iron and damp earth, with faint wisps of steam curling from sewer grates.
The tavern sat at the very end of the alley, a sagging wooden building with its windows shuttered tight and a crooked lantern swaying over the door. The faint glow spilling from the cracks hinted at life inside.
Quinn didn't even bother knocking properly. He rapped his knuckles lazily against the door once and slipped inside, Azra close behind.
The warmth hit them immediately...a heavy, smoky heat that clung to their skin. The scent of roasted meat and strong ale curled in the air, mingling with the faint tang of spiced candles burning in the corners. Behind the bar, a woman stood polishing a glass.
