On the other side, in the "Broken Glass" tavern, a young man in his late twenties sat behind the bar. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, and his features a mix of exhaustion and fear. His name was Vensen and he'd been assigned to run the place.
And no, that wasn't because he was competent or had any special skill. The reason was simpler. After what happened last night, when that masked man stormed in and slaughtered everyone, no one else dared come back to work here. So they sent Vensen.
He banged his head on the table in frustration.
Across the place Nila was talking to a customer. She turned toward him, then when she stood in front of him she slapped him hard on the back.
"What's got you so tense?" she said, waving her right hand while resting the other on her hip. "Relax a little."
He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were half closed as if he hadn't slept for days, then he muttered in a flat voice:
"We're going to die."
She tilted her head:
"Aren't you exaggerating?"
