Three days. Just three days before the big leap into the unknown, and Maggie had kept her promise.
She had stuffed herself, quite literally, in that same filthy tavern tucked deep in Martissant's underbelly—the one where Jonas had dragged her in his timid attempt at seduction.
The night had passed without a hitch, without drama, without any incident other than Maggie staying true to herself: a force of nature with the appetite of a titan and a disarming pragmatism.
"Ready to march into hell as long as there's free food," she had muttered inwardly, thinking back to the feast. And in that smoke-choked dive, its floors sticky with centuries of spilled beer, they would've had a hard time killing her anyway—her, an Awakened. Her stomach, hardened by the wild abundance and brutal scarcities of the Great Forest, had endured greasy dishes and heavy mugs of ale with the stoicism of a boulder.
