Relentlessly.
“This coffee’s cold.”
“That man over there is taking pictures of my elbows.”
“I don’t like the way he’s measuring that shelf.”
The inspectors try to keep working, but every step they take becomes a public event.
Phones are out.
People are filming.
A small crowd gathers outside the tavern windows.
The man in the suit checks his phone again.
And again.
His smile is fading.
The inspectors whisper together near the door.
Finally, the lead inspector clears his throat.
“We’ll… need to consult with our superiors.”
Mable beams at him.
“Well that sounds sensible.”
She folds her hands neatly on the table.
“We’ll wait.”
The inspectors hesitate.
Then they leave.
Not officially.
Not with paperwork.
Not with authority.
Just quietly… backing out of the room.
The sign never goes up.
The doors never close.
Saint stands behind the bar watching them disappear down the street.
He lets out a slow breath.
Relief flickers through the room.
But only for a moment.
