The inn's dim interior greeted me with shadows stretching under the warm glow of a few lanterns.

The scent of wood smoke and savory stew simmering in the kitchen wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the musty air outside.

Despite its modest appearance, the inn had an inviting atmosphere, like a small refuge from the harshness of the world beyond its doors.

I paused, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light as I scanned the room, assessing any potential threats or suspicious behavior.

A handful of patrons sat at the rough wooden tables, most of them hunched over their meals or nursing mugs of ale.

They barely glanced up as I entered, too absorbed in their own thoughts or conversations to pay much attention to a newcomer.

Behind the counter stood the innkeeper, a burly man with graying hair and a weathered face that spoke of years spent dealing with the trials of running a business in a town like this.

He was wiping down the bar with a practiced hand, but his sharp eyes flicked up to meet mine as I approached.

He offered a small, welcoming smile, though a lingering sadness shadowed his eyes.

"You look like you've had a rough day," he said. His voice was warm and genuine. "Come, sit down. Let me get you something to eat. No charge for a weary traveler."

The kindness in his tone caught me off guard, and I found myself nodding, unable to resist the offer.

"Thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping up on me.

The innkeeper gestured toward a table near the hearth.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, with concern lacing his words as he noticed the way I leaned slightly against the counter.

I gave him a tired smile. "Just a little worse for wear. Nothing that a good meal and some rest won't fix."

He nodded, his eyes flickering to the faint bloodstain on my rags before locking onto mine.

"We get all kinds here," he said slowly, his tone was still gentle. "No need to explain yourself. Let's get you settled first, and then we can talk if you'd like."

As I moved to the table, I hesitated for a moment and turned back to him. "I appreciate the help... I didn't catch your name."

He paused, as if surprised by the question, then gave me a small nod. "Gregor. Gregor Thorne. I've been running this inn for years now. And you?"

"Ethan," I replied, offering a brief nod in return. "Just passing through."

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"Ethan," Gregor repeated with a nod, as if testing how the name felt. "Well, Ethan, you're in good hands here. Now, let's get you fed."

I settled at the table. The warmth of the hearth seeped into my bones.

Gregor moved behind the counter, preparing something in the kitchen. His movements were deliberate and calm.

It was clear he took pride in his work, even if it was just preparing a meal for a stranger.

As I watched him, I couldn't help but notice the way his hands shook slightly when he thought no one was looking—a man who had seen too much and lost more than he cared to admit.

I barely had a moment to ease my guard before the door swung open with a loud creak.

I glanced back. My hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of the dagger at my side.

A figure stepped in, silhouetted by the evening's fading light.

I couldn't make out their features immediately, but the room's tension spiked as every gaze shifted toward the newcomer.

Gregor, who had been carrying a tray toward my table, froze for a moment with his face darkening.

He set the tray down on a nearby table and stepped forward. His hand moved subtly toward something beneath his apron.

"What's your business here?" Gregor asked. His voice lost its warmth and became as hard as iron.

For a long moment, the figure didn't respond. Then, in a voice that sent a chill down my spine, they finally spoke.

"I'm here to find someone."

Everyone held their breath, and I felt my heart skip a beat as the realization hit me.

They were looking for me.

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[POV Shift: Gregor]

The door to the inn swung open, and Gregor Thorne looked up from behind the counter.

A young man entered. His movements were careful, even cautious.

Gregor's practiced eyes caught the telltale signs of a rough journey: threadbare rags, a slight limp, and a faint bloodstain.

Another one seeking refuge, Gregor thought. The familiar pang of sympathy stirred within him.

"You look like you've had a rough day," he said, offering the young man a seat by the hearth.

As the boy—Ethan, he soon learned—settled in, Gregor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something strikingly familiar about him.

When Ethan turned to ask for his name, Gregor's heart skipped a beat.

Gregor Thorne. You've been running this inn for years, but this boy… who is he really?

The way Ethan moved, the way he carried himself, it tugged at memories Gregor had buried long ago.

He looks just like my boy… but that's impossible.

As Gregor prepared a meal for Ethan, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to his son.

The pain of that loss had never truly left him, and now, looking at Ethan, it was as if a ghost had walked into his inn.

Why does he have to look so much like him? It's not fair…

He shook his head, trying to dispel the painful thoughts.

Focus on the present, Gregor. This isn't your son. He's just a traveler in need of help.

The door creaked open again. Gregor's heart sank as he recognized the figure who stepped inside—a rugged man whose eyes were sharp with purpose.

As he placed the tray of food on the table, a thought rang in his mind.

This can't be good.

"What's your business here?" Gregor asked. His voice hardened, and his hand inched toward the knife beneath his apron.

The man's eyes swept the room, finally settling on Gregor with a cold smirk.

"I'm here to find someone," the man said, his voice was cold and deliberate. The tension in the room thickened, and Gregor knew that trouble had found its way to his door.

"A new kid in town," the man continued with his eyes narrowing. "Peeps say he came around these parts."

He's looking for Ethan, Gregor realized with his heart pounding. This boy… he's brought danger right to my doorstep. But what choice do I have now?

Gregor's fingers tightened around the knife's handle as he locked eyes with the man.

The fragile peace of his inn was on the verge of shattering.

He knew he had a choice to make.