The back room of the tavern was quieter, tucked away from the bustle of laughter and clinking mugs outside. Its walls still carried the faint scent of new timber, though the table at the center was scratched and worn from years of use—kept more out of memory than necessity. Arden closed the door behind them with a firm push, sealing out the noise.
"Sit, boy," he said, gesturing to the table. His voice had the same rough edge as always, but beneath it lingered a sense of familiarity, almost comfort.
Trafalgar lowered himself into the chair, posture relaxed, his dark cloak draping over the side. Marella, ever bustling, pulled out a chair across from him and gave a warm smile. "You must be hungry, Trafalgar. Shall I fix you something? It won't take long."
He gave her a single nod. "Yes. We can eat while we talk—it's going to be a long conversation."
