After my employer handed me the hundred dollars, I looked at him with gratitude. The fatigue was clear on his face, but he smiled softly.
I said to him:
"Thank you so much… really."
He nodded and said:
"You deserve it. Marcus is safe now, and that's what matters most."
I smiled faintly, then turned around and walked out of the hunting office.
---
I stepped out into the street. The golden sunlight was beginning to spread across the roads, touching the wooden walls of the buildings and giving them a gentle warmth after the chill of morning.
I was exhausted, and all I wanted was to find a place where I could surrender to sleep without worry. I walked quietly through the streets, observing the faces of passersby, their footsteps, and the shops gradually opening their doors.
I started wandering the streets in search of an inn to sleep in. In one of the alleys, I found a small inn named "Dew Inn." It was modest—not luxurious, but not run-down either. Its walls were painted a warm cream color, and its wooden doors and windows had an old-fashioned touch that reflected the simplicity of the place.
The exterior windows were small, framed in dark wood and divided into four sections with clear glass, some slightly dusty, giving the inn an aura of warmth and familiarity. A simple curtain behind the windows allowed daylight to sneak inside.
I knocked on the door. A girl, about ten years old, opened it. She had dark brown hair braided down her shoulders, and wide honey-colored eyes filled with childlike curiosity. She wore a simple but clean dress, and around her neck hung a translucent pendant that sparkled in the daylight.
She said cautiously:
"W...Who are you? What do you want?"
I paused for a moment, then replied:
"I just want to stay the night."
She answered shyly:
"Wait a moment."
She closed the door. A few moments later, it opened again—this time revealing a woman in her thirties, with kind features and warm eyes. Her brown hair was neatly tied back.
She said:
"My daughter told me you want to stay the night. Is that right?"
I answered:
"Yes, is that possible?"
She smiled and said:
"Of course, as long as you can pay."
I asked about the price, and she replied:
"It's seven dollars per night."
I sighed. I was struggling financially, and making money wasn't easy. But since I was probably staying just one night, I decided to treat myself a little.
I paid her the amount, then stepped inside.
The place was simple and tidy, with the scent of old wood mixed with the aroma of cooking from the nearby kitchen. The kitchen was small but organized, with a stone oven, a small stove, and shelves filled with old yet clean cookware.
The room I would be staying in was also simple—a small wooden bed with a thick blanket, a small table beside it, and a window overlooking a quiet street.
I didn't think too much. All I wanted was to close my eyes and sleep.
---
I lay on the bed, and something about it felt different this time. I don't know why exactly, but in that moment, the bed felt like it was embracing me. It wasn't luxurious or made of silk—it was simple in every way. Yet it was soft in a comforting way, and the pillow beneath my head felt light, like a piece of cloud.
I felt my muscles gradually relax, as if they had been tense for days and only now were allowed to unwind. My breathing began to steady, and the distant sounds of the street slowly faded until they disappeared, leaving behind a calmness that felt like an old, familiar embrace.
I don't know if my comfort came from the long journey I had taken, or maybe because Marcus was finally safe, or perhaps because of the quiet simplicity that surrounded every corner of the inn... or maybe, for the first time in a long while, I felt that no one was chasing me, and no one expected anything from me.
My thoughts began to slow, and I gave up trying to understand the reason. There is peace in not understanding everything. There's a hidden calm in simply surrendering to the moment as it is.
I said to myself:
"It's okay… just rest."
I closed my eyes. My eyelids grew heavier little by little, and drowsiness crept into my core gently. I didn't resist it—instead, I welcomed it, like someone greeting an old friend who had taken too long to arrive.
Then, without realizing it, I let sleep consume me softly…
And I drifted off.
---
I woke to the silver moonlight gently slipping through the window curtains, drawing faint lines across the wooden floor and casting window shadows on the opposite wall. The night breeze crept in through a small crack in the window, brushing my face gently, as if trying to wake me from a sweet dream whose details I could no longer recall.
I felt a light tightness in my stomach… the rumbling of my belly was loud enough to confirm—I was hungry. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then took a deep breath and got out of bed. My steps were slow, as if my body hadn't fully left that still state, the warmth of the bed still lingering on my back.
I stepped quietly into the hallway. The house was still, save for the faint creaks of the wooden floor beneath my feet. I descended the stairs slowly and headed toward the room where the woman had sat earlier. I knocked gently. I heard movement inside, then the door opened, and the innkeeper appeared.
She gave me a half-sleepy smile and said:
"You're awake? Is everything alright?"
I answered softly:
"Yes… I just want something to eat, if possible."
She looked at me for a moment, as if thinking, then said:
"Come, I'll heat up some soup for you. There's not much dinner left, but I think it'll be enough."
I followed her into the small kitchen, filled with the scent of old wood and a light broth aroma. The stove was still warm, with a small pot on one of the burners. She poured some soup into a dark ceramic bowl and placed it in front of me on the round table.
I sat down, picked up the wooden spoon, and began eating. It wasn't fancy, but it was warm, simple, and had a familiar taste—the taste of old homes that offer nothing but comfort.
She looked at me while wiping her hands with a cotton towel and said:
"If you stay tomorrow, there'll be some pies."
I smiled and said:
"That sounds good."
She didn't speak much further. She left me with my food and quietly walked away. I sat there eating in silence, feeling as if the innkeeper was somehow replacing my real mother—filling the void in this strange world.