The hotel they chose for the night sat near the quieter side of Salca, its exterior closer to an old roadside inn than anything one would call refined. Stone walls weathered by time, wooden beams darkened with age, the kind of place that blended naturally into a city that didn't try to impress anyone. From the outside, it looked exactly like what Salca was—simple, unassuming, ordinary.
Inside, the contrast was immediate.
The interior was clean, warm, and far more modern than the façade suggested. Soft lighting, polished floors, wards subtly embedded into the walls for comfort and safety. Not luxurious, but well kept. Enough to rest properly. Enough to let one breathe.
They were given separate rooms.
Before heading down the corridor, Bartholomew hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag as he looked at Trafalgar. "W-we're going tomorrow, right?" he asked. "To the place Mathias mentioned."
"Yes," Trafalgar replied without hesitation. "That's why we came here."
