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As you step out of the alley, the street opens before you. The buildings here curve slightly, their edges softer than you're used to. Flower boxes rest beneath some windows, their contents spilling over in cascades of night-blooming jasmine. The cobblestones beneath your feet are worn smooth, and the air carries the scent of baking bread mixed with that sweet floral note you couldn't identify before.

The music grows louder as you walk, pulling you forward. You can make out the melody now, something with strings and drums, punctuated by laughter and voices singing along without hesitation.

The source reveals itself as you round a corner: a three-story establishment with amber light spilling from its windows. Above the door hangs a painted sign showing a sleek black panther mid-leap, its eyes gleaming with mischief. Carved wooden letters beneath spell out [b]The Panther's Rest[/b].

Through the windows, you can see the woman on stage, her fingers flying across the strings of a lute. People crowd around tables, mugs raised, some swaying to the rhythm. A few couples dance near the back. The joy you heard from the alley has faces now, animated and unafraid.

You're perhaps twenty feet from the entrance when you hear it.

[i]Footsteps.[/i]

Behind you. Deliberately paced. Not running, but purposeful. Getting closer.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

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[b]What do you do?[/b]