She stopped.
For a second there was only silence.
Then her hand touched the handle.
I heard the faint scrape of metal, and right before it turned, she muttered to herself.
"It seems I forgot something… right, the dinner!"
Her voice sounded annoyed, sharp, like she was scolding herself.
The handle didn't move.
Instead, her steps hurried away from the bathroom, faster this time, dirt kicking under her shoes as she rushed back toward the inn.
The back door creaked open, then slammed shut.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
"That was close," I whispered, wiping my palms on my clothes.
I stayed there for a while longer, just to be sure.
Only when the sounds of the inn swallowed everything did I finally relax.
---
Meanwhile, inside the inn, the old owner was moving quickly down the hall.
Her back was slightly bent, but her steps were fast.
She had just remembered the kitchen.
As she neared it, a sharp smell hit her nose.
Smoke.
Her eyes widened.
