Kayleigh rode ahead of him, probably dreading or disliking the thought of a dreary, miserable day, as marked by the incoming storm and the overcast sky, and the slight drizzle that will slowly but surely soak everything. He did enjoy this kind of weather, more than anyone else he knew. He knew most- including Kayleigh- didn't like it so much, so when he left their inn that night, he was doubtful she'd follow. And he would prefer that- he wanted to relax, and his childhood had left him so... set in his ways, that he could never do that in somebody's presence. Even someone as close as Kayleigh, at least in relativity. Did she even know his name? Oh, right. She did. Pretty sure she knew the whole name...

Didn't matter. He shook it off, and felt a feeling that most likely other people felt right about now- dread, an anxiety of dreariness, and he suddenly realized what people actually felt about this weather. The drizzle that starting coming down cooled him, slowly began slipping under his hood and wetting his face. He enjoyed it all, even with his strange newfangled feeling. 

Either way, when they road through the gates in silence, only a coin per guard to allow them entry without question, he felt the dread increase. Something was about to happen, his assassin's sense kept whispering, something against him. But nothing did, and it slowly eased, as if they escaped the maw of a dragon without even knowing they were inside. 

And he approached the innkeeper whose name was never learned, and was given the same room as last time. He hated the man's way of giving him the same treatment, the same nickname- the laughable "Darky," the same welcome and the same everything- and it left the other patrons knowing that the man who always came in that cloak was someone mysterious. The bartender, innkeeper, whatever, he never showed anything but respect to the man, besides the nickname. He was always a bit scathing and superior to all his costumers, though everything else was very good, very anonymous. Made people wonder about Darky. 

But no one ever confronted, stopped by an invisible feeling of dread that might lead to something real, should they ever approach Darky. And so Darky remained a customer, occasionally coming into town and leaving the inn at odd times, always coming in at odd times.

So when Darky once again collapsed into the same bed he had previously stayed in- left exactly the same way- he figured that he'd wait a bit before slipping out the door, preferably when she was asleep, or pretending to be.