"TWO SLICES, PLEASE," Mailah said quickly, pressing a few coins into the woman's hand.
The woman behind the stall—a grandmotherly figure with flour-dusted cheeks—beamed at them, though her smile faltered slightly when her eyes met Grayson's.
He didn't smile back.
He stood like a monolith of dark wool and suppressed violence, his gaze raking over the vat of bubbling cheese.
Grayson took the piece of bread Mailah thrust at him. He held it between two fingers, staring at the golden, charred bubbles of cheese.
"It is peculiar," he observed, his voice cutting through the cheerful lilt of a nearby accordion. "The fat content is high, and the bread has been compromised by the heat. It will disintegrate before I can finish the assessment."
"Grayson. It's dinner. Put it in your mouth."
He looked at her, his silver eyes narrowing. Then, with a calculated movement, he took a bite.
