Chapter 288
The inn was cozy, with a crackling fire and the scent of bread—yet that wrongness lingered.
The fire crackled in a perfect rhythm, each pop and hiss too regular, like the ticking of a hidden clock.
Oliver tried to ignore it, but his senses kept tuning back to that unnatural rhythm—precise, calculated. It wasn't warmth he felt from the flames, but something colder, something patient.
The innkeeper, a bulky demon man with those same glassy eyes and two short horns, handed them keys. Their room upstairs had two beds with patchwork quilts, a lantern flickering on a table, and a window overlooking the square. Oliver bolted the door and checked the window, his weapons ready in mindspace.
Agnes sat cross-legged on her bed. "Teacher, is this a trap?"
"Probably," he said, settling on his bed. "Or an illusion—maybe a hallucination of sorts being supported by dark espera?"
She tilted her head. "But why?"
