The sky had long faded into dusk by the time Kyle returned to the inn.
The streets had grown quiet, with only a few villagers moving about—each one minding their own business with heads bowed low.
But the presence that had tailed him all day still clung to his shadow, subtle yet unwavering.
It moved with the silence of someone used to stalking, never close enough to be seen, but never far enough to escape Kyle's senses.
Inside the inn, the air was warm and filled with the scent of spiced broth and burning wood.
The innkeeper looked up from behind the counter, and for a moment, his eyes lingered on Kyle's posture—just stiff enough to suggest unease.
"Long day, young master? Can I do anything to help you out?"
The innkeeper asked with a cautious smile.
Kyle gave a brief nod, but said nothing.
Silvy, who had been idly stirring a cup of tea nearby, immediately straightened at the sight of him.
Her brows pulled together in concern.
