tavern's heated очаг was still smoldering, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and cheap wine. The musicians had packed up their lutes and flutes, but the low rumble of lively chatter persisted, carried along by the evening's warmth.

The stage, usually reserved for traveling actors and wandering poets, was now empty save for a scattering of sawdust. Lan Qiye, the tavern owner, was wiping down the remaining surfaces, his movements precise and economical. The firelight caught the angles of his face, casting shadows that made his usual indifference seem almost graver than it was. He'd only agreed to host a minor official's nephew and his companion for the night, a favor owed, but now he was glad the guests had finally left.

Down the street, a horse clopped noisily down the cobblestone. Lan Qiye glanced up from his work just as a young woman in a faded green dress burst through the doors, her hair flying out of a half-undone pin. She skidded to a halt, breathless, eyes wide as she scanned the dim interior.