Tobias pushes the door wider and steps through. The warmth hits him first — hearthfire-deep, layered with wood smoke and the smell of bread pulled fresh from an oven. He finds himself at the edge of a long hall crowded with travellers: muddy boots, clinking coins, three children asleep in a pile by the hearth. Candles dangle from low beams and throw gold across a dozen overlapping conversations; not a single person looks up. At the far end of the room, behind a wide wooden counter, a broad woman with flour dusted across her sleeves is watching him — the only soul in the hall who seems to notice the boy in nightclothes who appeared from an empty courtyard. She sets down a ladle, tilts her head slowly, and waits.