Waitress
The heavy door of the Iron Matron creaked shut behind them, sealing out the tension of the street. The inn's warm, welcoming glow wrapped around Valeria like a familiar cloak, though she would never say as much aloud. The mingling aromas of roasted meat, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread filled the air, accompanied by the low hum of voices from the other patrons. It was lively yet calm, the kind of noise that soothed her nerves after a long day.
Her boots echoed softly on the wooden floor as she made her way to the usual table—the one tucked near the fire but not too close, offering warmth without the oppressive heat. It was the table she had initially chosen on instinct, but now it felt like it belonged to them. A quiet corner where the chaos of Andelheim couldn't quite reach.