The streets of the eastern quarter stretched before them, cobbled paths winding between rows of brick buildings that leaned together as though conspiring in whispers. It was early afternoon; the place hadn’t yet roused to its nightly chaos.
A few taverns had their doors cracked open, their signs swaying faintly in the breeze, while the stench of stale ale clung to the air like a memory that never faded. Drunks from the night before lingered in shadowed corners, heads drooping, their snores drowned beneath the clatter of a distant cart.
"So..." Aeris finally broke the silence, her tone sharp against the muted hum of the streets. "How are we going to do this?"
Edward kept his gaze ahead, watching a group of boys chase each other with sticks. "We’ll split up. That way we can cover more taverns at once. We start with the ones closest to the murder scene and work our way out."
She gave a firm nod.
"And if we find some newcomers?" she asked.
He hesitated before answering. "Engage in some casual conversation. Don’t ask too many questions. Keep it light and read the room."
"Read the room?" she repeated, her brow furrowing.
"Pay attention to your surroundings, the people, the way they react. Don’t be forceful or too straightforward." His eyes flicked toward her as he walked. "Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit."
She scoffed but didn’t argue.
Soon, the tavern where the tavernkeeper had been killed came into view. Its shutters were drawn, the door locked tight, and silence clung to it like a shroud. The two lingered there for a moment, sharing a long look at the building.
"I’ll head down this road," Edward said at last, pointing at one of the splitting roads. "You take the opposite. We meet back here at the end of the night."
Aeris gave a single nod before slipping away into the thinning crowd.
Edward turned down a narrow street where the first tavern waited. It was small, barely more than a single room with a crooked sign that read The Copper Flagon. Inside, a few locals nursed their midday drinks. The place was quiet enough that the scrape of his boots against the floor drew eyes.
He ordered a glass of water, ignoring the bartender’s suspicious glance, and took a seat at the far edge of the room. From there, he watched. He paid attention to every movement, every laugh and every hushed word.
Minutes bled into an hour. Then two.
The tavern slowly grew louder, more patrons stumbling in, but nothing caught his attention. No suspicious glances, no strangers who didn’t belong. Just men drinking, women laughing, the rhythm of ordinary life.
A sudden crash of laughter pulled his focus to the front. His hand tightened against his glass, but disappointment quickly followed. It was just one of the regulars, drunker than before, shouting for more ale and buying drinks for anyone who’d raise a cup.
"Perhaps I should move on," Edward muttered under his breath. He slipped out unnoticed.
The next tavern was larger—its doorway tall, the inside filled with a haze of smoke and the mingled voices of dozens of patrons. Unlike the last, this one drew a mix of people. Men, women, travelers. Edward slid onto a stool at the bar, asking for another glass of water.
He waited, silent, his ears tuned to every word around him. At first, nothing. Then, a conversation a step to his left caught his ear.
"Miss Seraphine," the bartender said warmly to the young woman beside him, "I see you’re still in town. I thought you were just passing by."
The woman smiled, a sharp glint in her dark eyes. "I’m starting to like this town. I might stay longer than I expected."
"Passing by?" Edward repeated the words in his head. His gaze slid toward her.
She was young, only a few years older than he was. Olive skin, black hair that shimmered beneath the dim lamplight, and an easy confidence in the way she leaned against the counter. His eyes trailed lower, instinctively, toward her collarbone—where a faint, tattoo-like mark curled above the edge of her white, slightly unbuttoned top.
Before he could study it closer, her voice snapped like a whip.
"Eyes up here," she said, tapping the bottom of his chin with her finger.
"Huh? Oh, um... hello," Edward muttered, caught off guard.
She smirked. "I’m Seraphine. And you are?"
"Edward."
"You don’t seem like you’re from around here, Edward." Her gaze lingered, full of prying curiosity.
"No, I’m not. I’m just visiting a friend."
"A friend?" she echoed, tilting her head. Then she turned back to the bartender. "Please, one more cup of ale for my friend here."
Edward forced a thin smile. There was something hidden behind hers—something she wasn’t saying.
The next hour passed in a blur of words and cups of ale. He tried, carefully, to pull information from her. Where she came from, what she was doing in Ashenhold. But every answer she gave slid like smoke through his fingers. Open-ended, vague and annoyingly clever. Too clever.
She was hiding something. He could feel it.
And all the while, she ordered drink after drink, never stumbling, never faltering, as though the ale were nothing but water to her.
Another hour passed. His patience thinned. Then she leaned close, her breath warm against his ear.
"I live nearby," she whispered, her smile curving with a dangerous playfulness. "Why don’t we have a talk somewhere more... quiet?"
Edward met her gaze, reading the invitation in her eyes. He smiled back, though the weight behind it was colder than hers.
"Sure."
Moments later, they slipped from the tavern, leaving behind the smoke and noise. She guided him through winding streets until they reached the edge of the eastern quarter, where a lone townhouse sat in the shadow of taller buildings.
"Come on in," Seraphine said with a playful tug on his arm, dragging him inside before he could reply.
The door shut behind them with a soft click.