The air was heavy with anticipation as the group dispersed into Dawncrest, each member tasked with gathering the information they needed to dismantle the mayor’s operations. The streets were quieter now, with most of the townsfolk retreating indoors as the oppressive presence of the guards kept them subdued.

  Midas and Boreas took to the town’s dimly lit taverns and alleyways, where whispers and rumors flowed as freely as the watered-down ale. Mori and Neres, meanwhile, focused on observing the mayor’s supply caravans, moving stealthily through the shadows.

  In a small, rundown tavern called The Hollow Lantern, Midas and Boreas leaned against the bar, blending into the murmur of voices around them. The bartender, a wiry man with graying hair, served them without a word, his sharp eyes flickering to the symbols embroidered on Midas’s gear.

  “You two don’t look like you belong here,” the bartender said quietly as he poured another drink.

  Midas slid a coin across the counter. “We’re just passing through.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “But we’re curious about the mayor’s operation. People talk. What do they say?”

  The bartender hesitated, glancing around the room. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “They say the mayor’s in deep with someone powerful. A group based in Verena’s capital. Smugglers, slavers, maybe worse. They keep him in power, and in return, he funnels resources to them. Food, weapons... people.”

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  Boreas’s jaw tightened. “People?”

  The bartender nodded grimly. “Not many, but enough to make folks disappear. No one asks too many questions. They’re afraid of his enforcers.”

  Midas placed another coin on the counter. “Thank you. You’ve helped more than you know.”

  The bartender gave a terse nod and moved away, leaving Midas and Boreas to mull over the implications.

  Meanwhile, Mori and Neres perched on the roof of an abandoned warehouse near the market square. From their vantage point, they could see the caravans being loaded with crates and barrels under the watchful eyes of heavily armed guards.

  “Look at them,” Neres muttered, his voice barely audible. “They’re treating this like a military operation.”

  Mori adjusted her position, her bow resting against her knees. “It’s too organized. Someone’s giving them orders, and it’s not the mayor. He doesn’t have the brains for this.”

  Neres smirked. “Careful, Mori. You almost sound impressed.”

  “Hardly,” she shot back. “But it does make me wonder who’s really in charge.”

  The two watched in silence as the last of the crates were loaded onto the wagons. One of the guards barked an order, and the caravan began to move, trundling out of the square and heading toward the outskirts of town.

  “Let’s follow them,” Mori said, her tone decisive.

  “Thought you’d never ask.”