Back at the Tavern
The room above the tavern had one window, one table, and four cots that smelled like someone else's sweat. The team had pulled the cots together to make a rough sitting area. Mason sat on the floor, back to the wall, his eyes half-closed. Sera was cleaning her handgun, piece by piece, the parts laid out on a rag. Derek paced near the door, his ghosts hovering close, their cold making the small space even smaller.
Cora stood by the window, watching the square below. The crowd had thinned. The merchants were packing up their carts. The vampires had retreated to the shadows.
Lucian sat on the edge of a cot, his disguise still on—darker hair, leather jacket, scarf loose around his neck. He hadn't spoken since they'd come inside.
"We need to get closer," Cora said, not turning from the window.
"Closer to what?" Derek asked.
"To Voss. To whatever she's planning."
"We don't know she's planning anything."
