*Luca*
The warm scent of fresh cheese and sweet figs fills the tavern. I break off a piece of crusty bread and drizzle it with thick honey, savoring the sharp contrast. A small bowl of olives sits nearby, salty against the sweetness. Around me, the tavern hums with mid-morning bustle–merchants counting coins, farmers swapping news, and the barkeep wiping down the tables.
I’m glad I managed to change out of my drenched clothes hours ago. Although sleep has evaded me, at least my belly is full. I hadn’t meant to stop for a noblewoman, dazed and soaked to the bone, speaking Castilian like it was borrowed from another tongue. She should’ve been someone else’s problem, but I pulled her out anyway, wrapped her in my cloak, and took her to Abuela Maria’s home just as the sun came up. A foolish
