Chapter 154: Mercenaries
The reception desk was a rough-hewn counter, scratched and stained from years of elbows slamming coin purses onto it. A wiry clerk in a patched vest argued heatedly with a mercenary over fees, waving a quill like a weapon.
Ethan, Lirael, and Sylvie waited in line. Ethan's arms were folded loosely.
That was when the air behind them grew heavy.
A shadow stretched across the floor. The faint smell of sweat and iron—like old blood—rolled over them. Ethan didn't need to turn; he gave a lazy sideways glance, then shifted his eyes back to the counter, utterly indifferent.
The man looming behind them was massive, his presence filling the space like a boulder blocking a stream. Scars crisscrossed his broad chest where his leather vest hung open, and coarse black hairs bristled like wire across his skin. His jaw was square, his nose crooked from an old break, and his eyes burned with the need to assert dominance.
