As the morning sunlight filtered through the inn's dusty windows, Layla mulled over the merchant's cryptic words. His gaze had been sharp, almost accusatory, as he'd warned her about the dangers of the town.

It wasn't the first time she'd been on the receiving end of a veiled threat, but something about his tone unsettled her. He wasn't just warning her out of spite—there was genuine fear behind his words.

Mary Ann leaned in slightly as the merchant walked away, her voice low. "Do you think he knows something?"

Raziel shrugged, his sharp eyes following the merchant until he disappeared into the crowd. "He knows enough to want us out of here. That's more than just local gossip."

Layla tapped her fingers lightly against the table, her expression contemplative. "It could be nothing. But if it's not…" She let the thought hang in the air, her companions understanding the unspoken implication.

Mary Ann frowned. "This whole town feels off. People won't meet our eyes. It's like they're trying to avoid us at all costs."

Raziel crossed his arms. "Or they're waiting for something to happen."

Layla stood, her movements deliberate. "Let's not let speculation ruin breakfast. We'll head down, eat, and see if this merchant's warning holds weight. Fear can cloud judgment, but it can also point to the truth."

Her companions exchanged glances, then nodded. Whatever was brewing in the town, they'd face it together.

Layla, Mary Ann, and Raziel descended the creaking staircase to the inn's common room, the smell of bread and stew wafting faintly through the air. The room was sparsely populated, with only a few early risers seated at tables, speaking in hushed tones. As Layla led the group to an empty table near the window, her sharp eyes caught the sideways glances of the other patrons, quickly averted as if caught in an act of wrongdoing.

The trio sat down, and after a moment, a nervous worker approached, clutching a tray of mismatched plates. Her hands trembled slightly, causing the cutlery to clatter softly as she placed the food in front of them. Layla offered the worker a polite smile, intending to put her at ease.

"Thank you," Layla said, her tone warm.

The worker flinched, nearly dropping the tray. "I—uh—sorry!" she stammered, her words tumbling out as she retreated a few steps, wide-eyed.

Raziel raised an eyebrow, watching her with mild curiosity. "Well, that was strange."

Before anyone could respond, the worker tripped over a loose floorboard, and the tray she carried tilted, sending a steaming bowl of porridge tumbling toward Layla. With quick reflexes, Layla leaned back, avoiding the mess as the bowl shattered on the floor.

The worker froze, her face draining of color. "I—I didn't mean to—please don't—"

Layla held up a hand, speaking gently. "It's all right. It was an accident."

But her words only seemed to make matters worse. The worker's lips quivered, and tears welled in her eyes. Without another word, she turned and fled toward the kitchen, leaving behind a trail of panicked murmurs.

Mary Ann frowned, watching the worker disappear. "She's terrified. It's not just us; something's scaring everyone here."

Layla leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand thoughtfully. "It's not uncommon for people in small towns to fear outsiders, but this feels... different."

Raziel glanced around the room, noting how other patrons were suddenly very interested in their food or the cracks in the wooden table. "They're not just scared of us—they're scared of being seen talking to us."

"Let them be," Layla said softly. She picked up her fork and began to eat her meal with deliberate calm, ignoring the lingering stares and the tense atmosphere.

As they ate, it became clear the unease wasn't just confined to the worker. A man by the door glanced outside every few seconds, his leg bouncing nervously under the table. An older woman murmured a prayer under her breath, clutching a rosary tightly. The tension in the room was palpable, like a storm waiting to break.

Mary Ann's voice broke the silence. "What do you think they're expecting?"

Layla took a sip of her tea, her gaze distant. "Whatever it is, they think it's coming soon."

The inn's common room buzzed with a strange, muted energy that Layla couldn't quite place. It wasn't the usual hum of morning activity; this was quieter, more strained. The kind of silence that came with unspoken fears. As she sat at her table, sipping the now lukewarm tea and watching the hesitant movements of the inn's staff and patrons, Layla's mind worked to unravel the tension around her.

Her eyes flitted to a group of men huddled in the far corner of the room, their heads bent low as they whispered amongst themselves. Every so often, one of them would glance in her direction before quickly turning back to the group, speaking more urgently. A middle-aged woman nearby repeatedly fidgeted with the straps of her bag, her hands trembling as she focused intently on her untouched plate of food.

"It's like they're all waiting for something," Mary Ann observed quietly, her sharp gaze moving from one uneasy face to the next.

Raziel grunted, leaning back in his chair with a casualness that belied his alertness. "Or someone," he added.

Layla nodded thoughtfully. There was no mistaking the signs—furtive glances, hushed conversations, and the way people seemed to avoid lingering too long near her table. Even the staff, usually busy and bustling at this hour, moved about with an unnatural stiffness, their eyes fixed on their tasks as if afraid to look up.

The server who had fled earlier hadn't returned, leaving their table half-serviced. Layla didn't mind the lack of attention; she was more interested in the subtle clues that surrounded her.

"Did you notice how the server reacted?" she asked softly, her voice just loud enough for her companions to hear.

Raziel's expression darkened. "Or like something will happen to her for being near us," he said, glancing around the room. "The way everyone's acting, it's not just us they're worried about. There's something else going on here."

Layla tapped her finger against the edge of her plate, her brows furrowing in thought. "The merchant's warning, the server's fear, and now this... It's a pattern."

Mary Ann leaned forward slightly. "But what are they afraid of? Us? Or something bigger?"