Page 19 of Winter's Echo
Gralen was the last to come down, and I saw him nod to his captain.
“We leave before the next bell,” Marson said, his eyes fixed on the large clock above the fireplace. Several of his men nodded. He glanced our way, and seeing we were finished with our food, the captain raised his mug again, taking our silence for acknowledgment.
I’d just finished my coffee when the front door creaked open, slow enough to be deliberate. Cold air slipped into the room first, cutting through the warmth of bodies and the rich smell of coffee.
A few heads turned. Most didn’t bother. I watched with interest, feeling Baxley straighten slightly beside me.
He stepped inside like he belonged there with no announcement and no hesitation at seeing the inn so full of people so early.
His hood was pulled low, and he wore the usual face coverings, but even from here, I could tell that he scanned the room. I was sure his gaze landed briefly on mine before moving on.
Snow clung to the shoulders of his dark cloak, melting slowly as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t rush to brush it off. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice it at all.
That was the first thing that felt wrong about him.
The second was that no one stopped him as he walked into the room toward the fire.
He pushed his hood back slightly, and thick brown hair, not quite straight, not quite curly, fell across his forehead.
I was paying far too much attention to his hair, while he wasn’t paying attention to anyone. Not the soldiers, nor the innkeeper who had shown up halfway through my porridge. Not even Baxley.
Baxley was the one I’d be watching if I were the one who had just walked into an inn.
My attention snapped sideways. Baxley hadn’t moved, but he was watching now. Not openly, not like the others, but enough. I saw his upper lip curl, and I wasn’t sure if it was at the stranger or me.
Shades. Was this a problem?
The man took his time crossing the room, his gaze drifting — neither searching, or curious — just… cataloging. People shifted under it without knowing why.
When his eyes returned to me, they didn’t flick away. They stayed, and his gaze was long and steady. I held his stare out of habit, not instinct.
That wasmymistake. I saw the corners of his eyes crinkle, and I knew under the face wraps he was probably smiling.
His eyes gleamed with triumph, almost as if he’d just found something he wasn't even looking for.
“Trailfinder,” he said, testing the word. His voice was low and even, rough at the edges, as if he didn’t need to raise it to be heard. “He found you.” I felt Baxley relax beside me.
Him? We were waiting forhim? Really?
My spine went rigid. “Mercenary,” I returned coolly.
His gaze flicked to Baxley then, brief but loaded. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Baxley didn’t answer, only reached out, drained his coffee dry, and then leaned back in his seat.
The man stepped closer, stopping just inside my space without touching me. Close enough that I could smell the cold still clinging to him.
“You took the job,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. I tilted my chin. “I did.” My gaze flicked to Baxley. “Although I’m sure this isn’t news to you.”
“Pity.”
“Pity?” My eyes widened at the comment, and I frowned. “For who?”
His eyes flicked over my face again, slower this time. Deliberate. Knowing, somehow, without me saying a word, that it made me uncomfortable.
I heard him sniff as he pulled the wrappings down to free his mouth. “For you.”
