Ethan pushed open the heavy door of the inn, moving like a half-dead man. His bones felt like they would crush any moment, his breath shaking. The innkeeper—a balding guy with a mustache—looked at him over the counter, blinking in surprise.
"Room for one, right?" the man asked in a calm tone.
"Yeah, room for one," Ethan whispered to him. "The quietest one of them all."
He dropped a silver coin on the counter. The man picked up the coin, wide-eyed at the grime and blood lining Ethan's cloak.
"Er… you can go to the second floor. The last door on the left is the most suitable room for you."
Ethan climbed the narrow stairs, which groaned under his weight. He staggered into a small room that had a single bed and a washbasin next to the main door. Ethan slammed the door closed behind him and jumped on the bed—letting himself collapse onto the mattress.
