The back room of the tanner's house smelled of old leather and woodsmoke.
The scent clung to everything, the walls, the floor, the thin blanket Tomas's wife had given us to sit on. It was the smell of labor and survival, of wolves who worked with their hands and asked no questions. I breathed it in and tried to anchor myself to something ordinary.
We stayed on the floor because chairs felt like a luxury that belonged to people who were not being hunted. Tomas's wife brought a thin broth and hard bread. We ate because the body required it, not because anyone had an appetite. The broth was salty and warm, the bread stale but filling. I forced down every bite, knowing I would need the strength. Lina sat closest to the door, blade within reach, listening to every footstep in the alley outsid
