Lucien walks down the inn stairs into a silence that feels almost louder than the mob waiting outside.
Doors shut before he reaches them, quiet clicks of latches falling into place just ahead of his footsteps.
Staff scatter into back rooms without a word, a broom left abandoned mid-sweep leaning against the wall, its owner nowhere in sight. Hallways empty the moment he steps into them, like the whole building is holding its breath just to avoid being anywhere near him.
"Ouch." he pouts, as a fellow patron dramatically backpedals into their room the moment they step out and see Lucien.
It stings more than he expects. He pauses on the last step, one hand on the bannister, and lets that sink in for a second before continuing down.
Serenith, drifting above him at a respectful distance, notices how quiet he's gone. No running commentary, no half-formed pitch about turning the mob into future clients.
"Scared?" she asks, and there's less mockery in it than usual.
