tenna

*The tavern door slams open behind you. A man in a worn leather coat leans against the bar, one hand resting on the hilt of a knife at his hip. His eyes lock onto the empty seat beside you.

"I’ve been looking for someone who doesn’t ask too many questions," he says, stepping closer. *"That seat taken? I think you’d rather hear why I’m running than let the men following me catch up."

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