The air carried less tension, though none of its inhabitants consciously understood why. Market stalls bustled beneath winter canopies. Vendors called out prices with renewed vigor. Snow was shoveled from cobblestone streets in steady rhythm, scraping against stone in a strangely comforting cadence.
People walked lighter.
They did not know they had been suffocating.
Bruce moved through the streets with quiet purpose, his presence blending seamlessly into the winter crowd. After several turns, he paused beside a middle-aged merchant adjusting crates of dried fish near a frost-covered awning.
"Where is the number one brothel in Eiskar?" Bruce asked plainly.
The merchant froze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
His eyes traveled from Bruce's face to his posture, to the refined coat draped over his shoulders, to the calm authority in the way he stood. Then back to his face.
"…Excuse me?"
"The number one brothel," Bruce repeated evenly. "Location."
