The sun had barely begun its full rise when the trio stepped out of the Mercenary Guild.
The streets of Westmont were still quiet—lamplighters dousing their flames, vendors just beginning to set up their stalls, and the wetness of morning dew still lingering on the stone.
Lyone yawned once, stretching his arms above his head as they walked. "Aren't we going to eat first?" he asked, rubbing one eye. "I'm starving."
Damien glanced back over his shoulder, adjusting the collar of his coat. "I don't think there's any need."
Lyone blinked. "Huh?"
"We'll eat at the Town Lord's manor," Damien said, his tone far too casual for the statement. "His cooks will still be prepping the morning rounds. If we're on time, we'll be included."
"And if we're late?"
Damien flashed a smirk. "I'll just say I'm hungry. They'll make something on the spot. I'm just that irresistible."
Lyone tilted his head. "You're serious?"
