Midnight Pub

The Tracker Arrives...


A weary traveler stands outside the pub, dusting off his clothes and checking his pockets nervously. He pulls a worn and slightly crumpled business card from his left jacket pocket, turning it over in his hand to examine both sides. The embossed logo of a door with a moon in the center stands out clearly in the dim light of the alleyway. Looking again at the front door of the Midnight, he raises a fist and knocks three times.


Come in. No knocking here (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠).