To the outside world, it was just another quiet evening at the inn. Inside, it was a slaughterhouse.
When the last man fell, Lucius stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his mouth smeared with blood. He turned to Alaric, his expression smug. "Satisfied?"
Alaric didn't respond immediately. Instead, his eyes shifted to the girl still huddled in the corner. Her quiet sobs were the only sound in the room now. He approached her slowly, kneeling down to her level.
"You're safe now," he said softly, his voice unusually gentle. She flinched at his approach, shrinking further into herself.
Lucius watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. "She's terrified of us, Alaric. Don't waste your time."
Alaric ignored him, carefully cutting the ropes that bound her wrists. The girl gasped, pulling her hands close to her chest as she stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. "What's your name?" he asked.