“Told by who?” His right hand slips out of sight behind the bar.
I stop a safe distance away, deciding that’s close enough. “Cornelia sent me,” I explain, glancing again at the monsters who continue to stare. “She said you have lodging?”
Leif’s shoulders loosen a fraction, the rigid line of them easing as he nods, but he continues to size me up with unblinking focus as his lips pull into a tight, thin line.
I shift my weight, gaze darting to the patrons once more before I tilt the paper cone towards him. “She, uh, also told me to bring you this?”
One donut remains inside, and he stares at it for a long stretch before a loud, barking laugh escapes him. The booming sound is so sudden I take a quick step back.
Leif’s tight smile shifts into something far more smug at my show of nerves.“Pay yer dues then, boy, and come on back.”
My palms sweat as I hand over the cone, but he only has eyes for his snack. He shoves the entire donut in his mouth and waves for me to follow.
The stockroom plunges into pitch darkness as the door thuds shut behind us, swallowing the last sliver of light from the pub in a heavy click. Leif flicks on a single bare bulb overhead, the weak glow casting harsh shadows across the cluttered shelves and his broad frame.
He plants his thick hands on his hips, elbows jutting out like barriers, and fixes me with a steady, unblinking look that feels like it’s peeling back layers.
“Ol’ Nelly’s always had a soft spot for strays,” he says, his gravelly voice laced with irritation. “What kind of sob story did you feed her?”
“No sob story. I just need somewhere quiet to lie low while I handle some business in the city.”
“Business, is it?” He grunts low in his throat, scratching his beard as he studies me. “How long you been pretending to be military?”
“What?” I ask, though the word comes out sharper than I intend.
My arms fold across my chest on instinct, as if that could somehow conceal the uniform.
His eyes narrow as he sighs. “Let’s not start by lying to one another. Nelly wouldn’t send you here if she thought you were a soldier, not with my feelings on the matter.”
I hold his gaze for a moment, then let out a slow breath. “Iammilitary,” I insist. “Or… I was.”
“You on the run?”
I meet his steady blue eyes, searching for anything that feels safe enough to lean on, and settle for a half-truth.
“Not exactly,” I say. “As far as I know, they think I’m dead.”
His eyes dart down my frame. “Look pretty alive to me.”
“So it would seem.”
He studies me for another tense moment. “How long you planning to be here?” he asks as he brushes the lingering sugar from his fingers onto the dark apron tied around his waist.
“Until I find who I’m looking for,” I respond. “Could be a few days. Could be longer.”
“You bringing trouble through my door?”
“Not if I can help it,” I say. “I’m not here to make waves. The quieter I stay, the better… for both of us.”
He grunts and folds his bulky arms over his chest. “You got coin to cover a room?”
“Depends on how long I end up needing it.”
He nods, mostly to himself, then lets out a drawn-out, weary sigh. “It’s quiet here, and I like it that way. Been running this place thirty years, and everyone knows military sympathizers aren’t welcome through my door.”
“They don’t do routine checks?”I ask in surprise.
The military has always kept the civilian-run businesses under its thumb. High taxes, frequent inspections, and plenty of off-the-books violence to ensure the owners stay in line.
