Chile Alkinlock sat in the same dingy tavern he’d been haunting for weeks now. The wood was rotting, the floors creaked with every step, and the air smelled like stale ale and bad decisions.

The place was a shithole, no doubt about it, but it was quiet in the ways that mattered. Chile blended into the shadows, hood pulled low over his face, a half-empty tankard in hand. If anyone had bothered to look in his direction, they might’ve seen his eyes scanning the room, sizing up the regulars, but nobody ever bothered to look his way.

The tavern was full of the usual sorts—demons, half-beasts, elves, and the occasional human traveler. It was a gathering of the unlucky and the unwanted, the types who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—mingle in the upper echelons of society.

Chile wasn’t part of it. He liked it that way.

Being unnoticed was a skill.

A group of half-beasts sat near the fire, too busy bickering over a spilled drink to notice anything else. Chile could hear their gruff voices, the kind of low growling that made it sound like they were always seconds away from tearing each other apart.

They weren’t, though. They rarely ever did.

Near the back of the tavern, a pair of demons sat huddled around a table, their twisted horns and glowing eyes catching the dim light whenever they leaned forward. They were deep in conversation with a merchant who looked nervous, his fingers drumming on the table. Chile had seen it before—someone trying to make a deal they couldn’t afford, trading their soul for something they’d regret.

None of it was his problem.

Then there were the elves. There was always a group of elves, no matter where you went. These ones were dressed in traveling clothes, but even that couldn’t hide their smugness. They had the look of people who thought they were too good for the tavern, too good for the people around them.

Chile rolled his eyes and took another sip from his tankard. Elves always had that look, like they were waiting for someone to notice how special they were.

And then there was Chile—stuck in the middle of it all, but not really part of it. Most of the time, people stayed out of his way. He wasn’t exactly a welcoming sight—too tall for a halfling, too short for a human. He’d always been stuck in that awkward middle ground, cursed to be the tallest damn halfling on this side of the countryside.

But that didn’t do him any favors, because he was still too short for anyone else to take seriously. Most people couldn’t decide whether to look down on him or ignore him altogether. He preferred the latter.

Another day, another drink, another job.

It was the same routine he’d been stuck in for months now—pick up a job, get paid, and move on to the next tavern. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept him out of trouble.

He was halfway through his drink when something caught his attention. A figure moved toward the corkboard in the corner of the tavern, where job listings and notices were usually posted. Normally, Chile wouldn’t have bothered looking. Job boards in places like this were full of the same nonsense—escort this, kill that, fetch this.

But this figure was different.

A hooded and cloaked woman moved quickly to pin something to the board. Her movements were calculated, quick, like she didn’t want to linger. Chile squinted, watching her from across the room. There was something about the way she moved—purposeful, like she wasn’t just some traveler looking for a guide.

She was hiding something.

She adjusted her hood as she turned, and that’s when he saw them—ears.

Light grey-tipped ears, peeking out from beneath her hair. Dark Elf. Or half-elf. He couldn’t be sure from this distance.

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His fingers tightened around the handle of his tankard. That was interesting.

Dark elves don’t just walk into places like this and post jobs on the board. Not unless they had a reason to. Chile sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing as the woman slipped out the door before anyone else could even notice she’d been there.

She was quick. Too brisk for this crowd.

He grumbled under his breath, tossing back the last of his drink. If she was posting a job, it was probably already drawing attention from the other patrons. Half the time, the jobs were snatched up before the ink even dried on the parchment.

Chile wasn’t about to let that happen.

With a groan, he pushed himself off the stool and made his way toward the board. His boots thudded heavily against the worn floorboards, the noise drawing a few curious glances. A couple of half-beasts glanced his way, their eyes narrowing as they realized where he was headed. They weren’t about to let a job like this go easily.

He weaved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the corkboard. The paper was still pinned there, fresh ink gleaming in the dim light. Just as he reached out to grab it, a massive hand shot out from beside him. One of the half-beasts, a hulking figure with fur-covered arms and a growl that sounded like rocks grinding together, reached for the job posting.

Chile didn’t give him the chance. With a swift motion, he sidestepped the half-beast’s hand and snatched the paper off the board, tucking it into his coat pocket. The half-beast grunted in frustration, but Chile didn’t bother looking back. He’d already won.

“Too slow,” Chile muttered, brushing past the crowd as he made his way back to his table.

The other patrons watched him go, a few of them muttering under their breath, but no one made a move to stop him. As he settled back into his seat, Chile pulled the crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and smoothed it out on the table. His eyes scanned the text quickly.

Escort mission. Through Greythorn Forest. Northern lands.

Chile raised an eyebrow. Greythorn Forest wasn’t exactly a place people traveled through willingly. It was full of ancient magic, dangerous beasts, and more than a few traps waiting to catch the unwary. It was the kind of place that could get you killed if you weren’t careful.

He sighed, folding the paper in half and slipping it back into his pocket. Normally, he would’ve passed on something like this. Too much risk, not enough reward. But something about this job was different. Maybe it was the way the woman had moved, like she was running from something.

Or maybe it was just the fact that he was tired of sitting in this tavern, doing nothing but drinking his way through the weeks.

Whatever it was, it was enough to make him consider it.

He stood up, tossing a few coins onto the table. He could figure out the details later. For now, he needed to track down whoever had posted this job. And if that meant going after the woman who had just slipped out of the tavern, so be it.

Chile adjusted his coat, pulling his hood lower over his face as he stepped out into the cool night air. The streets outside the tavern were mostly empty, save for a few stragglers making their way home. He scanned the alleyways, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

Nothing.

He grumbled under his breath. Of course she’d disappeared. He hadn’t expected her to stick around, but it would’ve made things easier if she had.

“Figures,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he started walking.

The Greythorn Forest loomed in the distance, its dark outline barely visible against the night sky. If this job was what he thought it was, he’d be heading there soon enough. He just hoped the woman knew what she was getting into. Because if she didn’t, they were both in for a hell of a ride.

Chile sighed, shaking his head as he turned down a side street. He wasn’t used to working with people, but this job didn’t leave him much choice. And something told him that this half-elf wasn’t just any ordinary client.

Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he didn’t know yet.

He kept walking, his thoughts turning over the details of the job in his mind. Escort missions were usually straightforward—get the client from point A to point B, make sure they didn’t die along the way. But the fact that this one involved Greythorn Forest made it more…complicated. The forest was a place of ancient magic, the kind that didn’t play by the usual rules. He’d heard stories of travelers who went in and never came out, swallowed up by the trees and the creatures that called it home.

But he wasn’t just any traveler. He was Chile Alkinlock, the best damn rogue on this side of the sticks, and if anyone could make it through Greythorn alive, it was him.

He just hoped his new client wasn’t as naive as she seemed.