Leif grimaces. “They do. But they stick to the pub and don’t linger longer than necessary.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the door. “How do you stop them from searching the rooms?”
“A couple of second-floor rooms only open from the alley,” he explains with that same scowl. “We keep them empty so the patrols have a place to duck out of sight when they need it.”
I raise a brow as I return my attention to him. “Fuck their side pieces or drink themselves stupid, you mean.”
He shrugs, no denial in the rise and fall of his shoulders, but the way his jaw tightens tells me everything about his thoughts on the matter.
“It’s the cost of doing business in this city. Keeps the rest of us unbothered.”
“That's fair,” I concede.
“I’ll put you on the fourth floor,” he says after another pause, “in a room facing the street so you can keep an eye on things before you head out. Pay me each morning. If your coin runs low, we can talk about other ways to settle up.”
“How illegal are those ‘other ways’?”
One shoulder lifts in another lazy, careless shrug as his mouth twitches in what’s almost a smile, the corner quirking up as if he’s fighting it.
“Legal enough if nobody catches you.”
“That’s about as straight an answer as I expected,” I mutter, but the tension between us has eased. “Alright. I appreciate the discretion.”
He nods and motions for me to follow. The same patrons line the bar, eyes tracking us with mild curiosity as Leif slips behind the counter to grab a key. He leads me to the stairs, pausing at the door at the top of the first flight.
“This door stays closed…always,”he stresses, staring at me until he's convinced I've heard the gravity in his tone. “Pull it shut behind you, and if you ever find it locked from the other side, stay put, unless you fancy running into soldiers itching for an excuse to poke around.”
He doesn’t wait for my nod before he pushes it open and lets me through, then closes it firmly before we climb two more flights to the top floor. Up here, the street noise below is reduced to a faint hum, and our footsteps echo on the wooden floors. Leif unlocks room 403, then nudges the door wide and glances inside.
“Water flow’s steady,” he says as he hands me the key, “but the heat’s hit or miss. You’ll have better luck with hot water if you shower during off-hours.”
“Thanks, but I’m not too worried about it,” I reply, glancing around the room.
There’s a double bed with a plain white comforter, a hunter-green armchair by the window, and a round table like the ones in the pub. I drop my bag at the foot of the bed and poke my head into the bathroom. It’s simple, too, with a tight stall shower, toilet, and pedestal sink. Everything carries a faint scent of bleach, but it’s clean.
“Dinner’s on the house,” Leif adds from the doorway as I step back into the bedroom. “Nothing fancy. It’s usually stew made from whatever the vendors are unloading cheap at day’s end, but if you’re around, there’s a bowl for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, offering a quiet smile. “I mean it. I appreciate everything.”
He nods once, raps his knuckles on the doorframe, and pulls the door shut behind him. The moment he’s gone, exhaustion settles over me like a heavy blanket, and I sink onto the edge of the bed. The last two days have offered almost no rest, and though I know I should keep moving, the lure of a safe place to sleep is too strong to brush off right now.
Tired makes you sloppy, after all, and sloppy gets you caught.
I check the lock twice, then peel off my leathers. Sweat clings to me, stale from the uniform that hasn’t breathed all day. I drag myself to the shower. The pressure’s weak, but the water’s warm enough, and I wash quickly.
The towel is scratchy, but the sheets are soft as I slide between them. My head barely touches the pillow before a deep and dreamless sleep pulls me under.
The smoky scent of cooking meat rouses me, and I blink toward the window, where the day is coming to an end. The sun is still strong but sinking, throwing long shadows across the room.
My mind feels sharper after the rest. I stretch slowly, arms overhead and back arching with a quiet groan.
I pull on jeans and a plain t-shirt, feeling more like myself as I head downstairs. No one spares me a second glance this time without the uniform.
Monsters and humans mix in the now-crowded pub, clustered at tables or propped along the bar, and low conversation hums under the clink of glasses.
Leif catches my eye from behind the counter and tilts his head toward the kitchen, one brow raised in question. When I nod, he gestures towards the tables, so I slide into a booth that gives me a clear view of the door.
He appears a minute later with a plate of sliced beef and noodles in a rich, buttery sauce, and sets the bowl in front of me.
