The day wasn't over yet, though I really wished it was. I walked up the streets to Lina's tavern, passing stalls being dismantled, vendors complaining about the cold that came with the afternoon.
I didn't talk to anyone. Not even the mangy dog that insisted on following me for a few minutes before deciding I wasn't worth the effort.
When I got to the tavern, I shoved the door harder than needed. The creak echoed through the hall, empty at this hour, with tables still dirty with glasses no one had cleared. The smell of old beer and cold grease hit me like a soft punch. The innkeeper was gone, so were the patrons.
Lina wasn't at the counter. Maybe sleeping. Maybe pretending I didn't exist — which I couldn't blame her for doing.
I went straight for the side door, the one leading to the cellar. I stopped in front of it just long enough to let out a heavy sigh, as if the wood were my confessor. Then I turned the handle and went down.
