"I do apologise. I thought I should stay and offer some condolences and encouragement to the wife," Chief Warren said as he stepped into the tavern. His boots thudded softly against the warped floorboards, the faint jangle of his belt cutting the silence.
Edward glanced up just as the chief's eyes flickered to his half-open shirt. The missing buttons hung loose, his chest exposed to the lanternlight. Warren's brow lifted in the faintest of questions, but—for reasons Edward couldn't quite grasp—the man chose not to press. His gaze steadied instead, calm and businesslike.
"So," Warren began, "How is the situation? What's the plan?"
Edward cleared his throat, the memory of Aeris yanking open his shirt still fresh. His voice, when it came, was even despite the internal fluster he had felt.
"We'll look for the newcomers the widow mentioned. Aeris and I will split up, each of us will check different taverns, and see if anyone unusual stands out."
