Liona's POV
The tavern was loud and warm and exactly what I needed.
Or at least that was what I had told myself on the walk over. Somewhere away from the pack house. Away from the quiet corridors and the rooms and the thoughts that kept finding me no matter which direction I turned. Just a drink and some noise and nobody I had to explain anything to.
I pushed the door open and the warmth hit me first. Smoke and ale and bodies and music all pressed together into something that was almost comfortable. I wove between the tables toward the bar, not looking at anyone in particular, just moving.
Then a laugh cut through the noise.
High and bright and deliberately loud. The kind of laugh that was not really about finding something funny.
My eyes moved toward it before I could stop them.
He was at a corner table near the back.
