Eira’s POV
Mrs. Agatha’s canvas shopping bag weighs about as much as a small car.
“I can take the other handle,” I offer, reaching for the thick straps.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps, though she lets me take the weight. “You’ll pull a muscle. You’re too thin. Draven, stop looking at those bruised plums. They’re rotten.”
“I’m appreciating their character,” Draven says. He drops the plums back into the bin and takes the other side of the bag. “Someone has to stop this old woman from buying poison.”
Mrs. Agatha threatens him with her walking stick. He laughs, dodging the wood with an easy, fluid grace.
Soren falls into step beside her. Without looking, he reaches into the mesh bag and pulls out a red apple. He tosses it in the air, catches it, and wipes it on his jacket.
Mrs. Ag
