The streets of Riverdale buzzed with their usual energy. Shopkeepers shouted prices from their stalls, carriages clattered over polished stone roads, and the aroma of roasted meat mingled with the fresh river air, drifting lazily through the afternoon breeze.
There was no hint in the vibrant city that a massacre had taken place in Greyvale just days before. Trade didn't pause for sorrow, and gold didn't wait for mourning; life simply marched on.
Boren strolled down the main street at a leisurely pace, a leather-bound book snugly tucked under his arm. His round figure bounced slightly as he walked, his robes swaying with each step. He even whistled softly to himself, as if he had just wrapped up a delightful business meeting rather than negotiating thirty million gold linked to bloodshed. A bead of sweat lingered on his forehead from the tension of their earlier conversation, which he casually wiped away with his sleeve before letting out a satisfied sigh.
