The Crossroads Tavern sat at the border between human and wolf territories. It was a place where both species mingled freely. Secrets were traded like currency here. Tonight, the air was thick with pipe smoke. Whispered conversations died when strangers drew too close.

Theron Whitfield nursed his ale. He listened to the chatter around him. The traveling merchant had spent twenty years crossing supernatural territories. In his experience, tavern gossip was often more reliable than official ...