Morning mist curled across the threshold of Stone-Willow Lane, clinging to the cold iron of Sera’s storm-pike.
Kaelen did not flinch. He adjusted the willow basket on his shoulder, looking from the sharp spear tip to the dark, trembling intensity in Sera’s eyes. The silence in the alley was broken only by the distant caw of river crows wheeling over the docks.
He reached his right hand back into the pocket of his grey cotton bathrobe.
“You’ve been guarding an invalid who needs a twenty-minute sit-down after climbing three flights of stairs,” Kaelen said mildly. “Now lower the iron before you punch a hole in my clean linen.”
His thumb uncorked the jade vial.
With a flick of his wrist, he drew two crimson pearls from the neck and tossed the first one through the air.
Sera’s hand moved on pure soldier’s instinct.
Her fingers snapped shut, catching the small sphere an inch from her breastplate. She opened her palm slowly, looking down at the medicine resting against her calloused skin.
