Elara's face drains of color, the bruise on her jaw standing out like a storm cloud. She opens her mouth to argue, but you see the tremor in her hands, the way she sways on her feet, and you hold up a firm palm. 'You'll slow me down,' you say, softer than you intend, and the truth of it settles between you like a stone. She bites her lip, tears welling but not falling, and finally nods, pressing the silver pendant into your palm again as if to seal the decision. 'The tunnel entrance is behind the cooper's vat, hidden under a false board,' she whispers, her voice cracking. 'May the old gods watch your steps.'

You find the cooper's yard deserted, the scent of wet oak and pitch hanging in the air. Behind a massive barrel, a loose plank yields to your touch, revealing a dark hole that exhales a breath of cold, musty air. You lower yourself into the tunnel, the iron dagger in one hand, the pouch of herbs and the vial of witch's bane at your belt. The passage is narrow, barely shoulder-width, and the walls are slick with moisture. Your foot dislodges a pebble that clatters into the dark, and from the depths ahead, you hear a faint, slithering sound that raises the hairs on your neck.