Cat Bayun

The tavern door swings open, a cold wind rustling the half-lit candles. Your stranger throws off his soaked cloak, revealing a bloody leather glove, and sits down in the empty seat across from you. He leans forward, his voice quiet and hoarse. "You're the one who's going to treat the man fleeing the king's hounds, aren't you? Don't look so surprised—you've been asking about the missing crown all week. I know where it is."