The slums of Esgard was still as disgusting as the first time Ian was there.
Cracked cobblestones sloshed underfoot with stagnant water, and the buildings that stood on either side were crooked things—bent and patched like corpses dressed in borrowed skin.
Smoke leaked from chimneys that hadn't seen maintenance in years, and the low psst of whispered deals buzzed behind every boarded-up window and curtain-drawn shack.
Underneath their thick cloaks, Ian and Eli walked side by side, hoods pulled low, faces shadowed. Despite the time of night, figures lingered in alleyways like phantoms—ragged beggars, toothless whores, and watchful eyes paid to notice everything and say nothing.
Their destination was ahead, a decrepit tavern that looked like it had survived a fire, a riot, and a siege—The Rat's Nest.
Ian pushed the door open, its hinges groaning like a dying animal.
Eli stepped in behind him.
