The tavern Lyra led JP to was tucked between two larger inns, almost hidden in the shadows of taller buildings. Its wooden sign creaked faintly, marked only with a faded carving of a loaf and mug. Warm light spilled from the door, along with the smell of baked bread and spiced stew.
JP inhaled deeply as they stepped inside. "Oh man. Real food. Not roots, jerky, or… what did we eat last week? Wolf jerky stew?"
"Your idea," Lyra said dryly.
The place was simple, filled with laborers and a few quiet adventurers hunched over meals. No one gave them more than a passing glance. Lyra guided them to a corner table, where JP collapsed into the chair with a sigh that sounded almost religious.
When the food arrived—a steaming bowl of thick stew with bread still warm from the oven—JP didn't wait. He dug in like a man who hadn't eaten in days, groaning with every bite. "Ohhh, I'm not crying, you're crying."
Lyra ate more neatly, though her gaze flicked often to the door, the windows, the other patrons. Even here, she didn't let herself relax.
After several minutes of blessed silence (and JP's muffled chewing noises), she finally spoke. "You shouldn't take their threats lightly."
JP paused, wiping stew from his chin. "The thugs? I noticed. Pretty sure one of them wanted to introduce me to his knife collection."
"I'm not talking about them," she said quietly. Her eyes were hard, but her voice softer than usual. "The merchants. The guild. The city itself. You're too… noticeable."
JP blinked. "Noticeable? Me? I blend right in. Average height, average face, average…" He trailed off, realizing the glowcap lamp poking out of his satchel was literally glowing under the table. "Okay, maybe not average."
Her lips twitched faintly, but her gaze stayed serious. "People here don't forgive different. And I…" She hesitated, looking down at her stew. "I know what it's like to be hunted for what you are."
JP leaned forward, sensing the weight behind her words. "That thug in the alley. He called you… forest-spawn. What does that mean?"
For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Lyra's voice came, quiet but edged. "It means I'm not safe here. My people aren't safe anywhere. Our blood makes us targets. Some want to use it. Others want us dead."
JP frowned, wanting to press, but stopped. The tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the spoon too tightly—it wasn't just a story. It was survival.
He set down his bread, meeting her eyes. "Then your secret's safe with me. Promise."
Something flickered in her gaze—surprise, maybe even gratitude—but it passed quickly. She nodded once, curt as always, and returned to her stew.
The moment softened between them.
Then the server returned with the bill. JP, still buzzing from his heartfelt vow, reached for his pouch… only to discover it nearly empty. He pushed three lonely copper coins across the table, smiling sheepishly.
Lyra sighed and covered the rest without a word.
JP coughed. "First you save me in a fight, now you buy me dinner. Clearly, I bring a lot to this partnership."
Lyra arched a brow. "Like what?"
"Uh…" JP leaned back, thinking. "Comic relief?"
This time, she didn't bother hiding her smirk.