The three men stepped inside, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. The air inside the house was different—warmer, but not welcoming. There was a faint smell of old wood, tobacco… and something else they couldn’t quite place.
Something metallic.
The old man moved slowly ahead of them.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward a large wooden table in the center of the room.
The bandits exchanged amused looks.
Too easy.
One of them chuckled under his breath.
“See? Told you. They all fold in the end.”
They dropped into their chairs carelessly, spreading out like they already owned the place. One leaned back, another tapped his fingers on the table, scanning the room.
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