With a gesture, the dwarf ushered them to follow.
Ryn followed. A lead had been placed directly in front of them—it would've been stranger not to.
The dwarf didn't lead them to an office.
That alone told Ryn more than any banner or guard ever could.
Instead, they were brought into a low coastal house built of dark stone and reinforced timber, its interior warm and faintly scented with herbs and salt.
Thick beams crossed the ceiling, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been built from the last generation, seemingly passed down.
"Please," the dwarf said, gesturing toward a heavy table already set with steaming cups. "Tea first. Business goes better when everyone's awake."
Ryn didn't refuse. Neither did the others.
The tea was strong. Bitter in the way dwarves preferred it.
The dwarf watched them over the rim of his cup, eyes sharp despite the casual posture.
Then his gaze lingered on Taylor.
"Ah."
He set his cup down with a soft clink.
