The crowd spilled out of the colosseum in waves, chatter echoing through the streets.
Noah moved with them at first, hands in his pockets.
The fights had ended with the usual cheers, bloodied fighters carried out like trophies, and money exchanging hands faster than water through a sieve.
But he'd found nothing. No suspicious glances, no strange rituals, no shadowy figures slipping away.
Just the usual brutality of men who lived for spectacle.
Noah peeled off from the throng, turning down quieter streets.
The further he walked, the more the shine of the capital faded.
Cracked cobblestones. Lamps flickering with failing enchantments.
The perfume of the wealthier quarters gave way to sour ale and stale bread. Here, the city seemed to sag under some kind of depressing atmosphere.
He wandered without hurry, taking it all in, until a crooked sign swinging on rusted chains caught his eye. A bar, tucked between leaning brick buildings.
Perfect.
