The capital swallows a man whole the moment he sets foot in it.
Even after I'd stepped away from the carriage, I stood there for a few moments, letting the sound of it soak in. A thousand voices overlapping, boots clapping against stone, hawkers calling out the worth of their wares, arguments in three different dialects. It was a tide — pull too far in one direction and you'd be swept, whether you wanted it or not.
But I didn't come here to be swept. I came to make the tide move with me.
First step: a roof over my head.
I asked around briefly, playing the role of curious traveler instead of hungry predator. Questions about "a quiet inn, decent prices, good food." Not too lavish — I wasn't ready to flash the merchant woman's token unless I needed to. Too cheap, and I'd find myself in a place where my coin would vanish along with my things.
The directions led me to a squat stone building with a painted sign swinging above the door: The Silver Hearth. Smoke curled from the chimney, and laughter spilled from the open shutters, warm and welcoming.
Inside, the common room was lively but not rowdy. Merchants shared a table with guards, dice clattered in a corner, and the smell of roasted meat lingered in the air.
Behind the counter stood the innkeeper — a broad-shouldered man with a receding hairline and an apron smeared with grease. He looked up as I approached, wiping his hands on the cloth.
"Need a room?" His voice was blunt, practiced.
"Yes. For at least a week."
His brows rose at that, and he gave me a quick once-over — boots, cloak, the way I carried myself. "That'll run you three silver a night. Meals included."
Not cheap. Not extortion, either.
I set the coins down without hesitation. His eyes tracked the weight of them, and I saw the small adjustment in his posture. Not just another stray traveler, then.
"You'll have the east wing," he said, pocketing the money. "Second floor. Breakfast and supper served at the bell. And if you need anything, my girl'll see to it."
He jerked his chin toward the far side of the counter.
That's when I saw her.
The girl couldn't have been more than nineteen. Brown hair tied back loosely, strands falling across a face that still carried softness beneath the faint weariness of work. Her apron was dusted with flour, and she balanced a tray of mugs with a steadiness that spoke of long practice.
When she caught me looking, she flushed faintly but didn't look away. Just shifted the tray to one hand and dipped her head politely.
"Alina," the innkeeper said. "Show him the room."
"Yes, Father."
Her voice was soft, but there was a quickness to it, like she spoke with care to avoid being scolded.
She set the tray down, wiped her hands on her apron, and motioned for me to follow.
The stairs creaked under our steps. She didn't look back at me often, but when she did, her eyes lingered a beat longer than courtesy required.
"You're not from here," she said after a moment.
"What gave me away?"
She smiled faintly. "You looked at the sign outside like it was a riddle."
"Caught me."
Her laughter was quiet but genuine. "Most who stay here are guild men. They don't even notice it anymore."
We reached the east wing. She opened a door with a simple iron key, stepping aside to let me enter. The room was modest but clean — a wide bed, a washstand, a narrow window overlooking the street.
I set my pack down and turned to her. "Comfortable."
"It's one of our better rooms," she said, then hesitated. Her fingers twisted the edge of her apron, a small nervous habit. "If you need extra blankets, or… anything else, you can ask."
The pause before anything else wasn't accidental.
I let a small smile touch my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."
She flushed again, lowering her gaze, but she didn't retreat right away. Instead, she glanced back at me, curiosity flickering in her expression.
"You came alone?" she asked.
"Yes."
"No family?"
"Not here."
Something softened in her eyes at that, a mix of sympathy and… something else. Interest, maybe.
Before I could push further, a voice bellowed from downstairs: "Alina! Table six needs their plates!"
She startled, cheeks pink, and bobbed a quick nod. "Enjoy your stay," she murmured before hurrying off.
The door closed behind her, leaving me with the faint echo of her footsteps.
[System note: Potential target identified — emotional vulnerability detected. Influence potential: High.]
I unpacked slowly, letting the system's hum settle in my mind. Two bonds in the first town had given me a steady foundation — Desire Touch honed, Desire Tongue sharpened into something that lingered like smoke in the lungs.
But here? Here, the stakes were heavier.
Every word mattered. Every gesture would ripple farther.
And the innkeeper's daughter was the kind of thread I couldn't ignore. Sweet. Curious. A sheltered target in the middle of a city that devoured the careless. The kind of first step that would set the tone for everything else.
I washed, dressed in a clean shirt, and went back downstairs.
Evening settled fast in the capital. The Copper Flagon filled with noise — dice clattering, men shouting for ale, the fire crackling with fresh logs.
Alina darted between tables with practiced grace, carrying mugs, wiping spills, smiling shyly when laughter turned toward her.
When she reached my table, she set down my plate with steady hands. "Roast chicken tonight. Father says it's good luck to serve fowl on a traveler's first night."
"Do you believe that?" I asked.
Her lips curved. "I believe good food makes people stay."
"Wise." I leaned in slightly, voice softer. "And do you want people to stay?"
Her eyes flicked up, met mine, then dropped again. A faint blush crept across her cheeks. "Sometimes."
A man at the next table called her name, breaking the moment. She excused herself quickly, but not before I caught the small, almost involuntary smile tugging at her mouth.
[Influence: 8%. Target interest awakened.][Desire Points earned: +3. Cumulative total: 96.]
I ate slowly, watching her weave through the crowd. Noticing who she lingered near, how her smiles varied. The system whispered quietly with every glance I caught from her — potential, ripe and ready.
The capital roared outside, but here, in this inn, a seed had been planted.
Tomorrow, I'd water it.