Grace
The Blue Moose was louder than Grace expected.
Music played low from the old jukebox in the corner, but the real noise came from the people. Dozens of voices filled the air, weaving together into a restless hum. Glasses clinked, chairs scraped against the wooden floor, and the occasional burst of laughter shook the rafters. The tavern pulsed with life, a heartbeat of the valley itself.
Grace sat stiffly at the table Natasha had pulled her into, her back straight, her hands wrapped tightly around a sweating glass of soda. She hadn’t dared order anything stronger. Alcohol and her nerves were not a good mix. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she kept her grip firm, as if the glass anchored her to the moment.
The tavern was rustic but warm. Dark wood beams ran across the ceiling, an
