The room smelled of drinks, roasted meat from a spit in the back, and the faint musk of too many people packed too close.
Gon sat at a table near the wall, Milo lounging across from him, both nursing mugs chipped from rough use.
He leaned back, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword propped against the bench, its familiar weight a steady anchor.
Milo was mid-rant, something about a card game gone sour, but Gon's attention drifted. His eyes roamed the hall, catching on faces in the crowd, some familiar, some not.
Zara flickered into his thoughts, not her words, nothing sharp enough to stick, but her presence.
That wild red hair, the way her green eyes flashed with fire, her attitude bold and untamed.
He'd seen her earlier, maybe, cutting through the yard with that scar on her jaw catching the light.
She'd stuck in his head, a spark he couldn't quite place, though he didn't dwell on it long.
