The market quarter was dead silent, the narrow cobblestone lane slick with an oily mist that drifted off the river below the town. The storefronts were dark, their wooden awnings jutting out like broken teeth against the pale night sky.
We kept to the drainage ditch along the south wall, moving in single file. Soren led, his senses extended outward like an invisible net, while Selene followed in the middle, her hand pressed against the wrapped bundle she had pulled from beneath her hearth. I brought up the rear, watching our backtrail and listening for the heavy, rhythmic thud of military boots.
"The two-story building with the dried herbs hanging beneath the sign," Selene whispered, pointing toward a timber frame tucked between a cobbler's shop and a dry goods warehouse. "The side door
