Eira
Eira spent the early hours of her morning kneeling in the dirt, carefully picking bundles of dried parsley and rosemary.
Inside the shop, the atmosphere was peaceful.
Mrs. Gable hummed a low tune as she ground dried roots into a fine powder.
For a few hours, Eira felt like a normal apprentice again. They worked side-by-side, labelling tinctures and organizing the shelves of glass bottles.
By midday, Eira had gathered her things and walked the short distance to Milla's bakery. She found Noa at the front counter, polishing the brass handles of the display cases.
"Hi Noa," Eira said, glancing at a freshly trimmed bouquet of roses. "Do you know where Milla is?"
"Back room," Noa said. "It's time for the annual shop inspection. She's been scrubbing at the dirt in the shelves with a toothbrush for two hours."
Milla stepped out from the kitchen a moment later, wiping her hands on a fresh, lily-white apron. She looked energized rather than stressed.
"Don't worry," Milla said, catching Eira's concerned look. "Mr. Crelle is doing the inspection this year. He's been buying my cinnamon rolls every Sunday for a decade. As long as we keep the cellar door covered with that heavy rug, we'll be perfectly fine. He barely looks past the pantry."
Relieved, Eira retreated toward the back room where the cellar trapdoor was located. She figured she would keep watch from there until the friendly inspector was gone.
The bell above the front door chimed. Milla smoothed her hair and put on her best professional smile. "Welcome! Mr. Crelle, you're right on ti-"
Milla's voice died. The air in the bakery suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
It wasn't Mr. Crelle standing in the doorway. It was Warden Kaelen. His silver-trimmed uniform was blindingly neat, and his grey eyes scanned the room with the precision of a hawk.
"Warden," Milla stammered, her face turning pale. "I... I was expecting Mr. Crelle for the shop inspection."
"Crelle has been reassigned to the Lower-Tier docks for the week," Kaelen said. He stepped into the shop, his heavy boots echoing on the floor Milla had worked so hard to clean. "I'll be handling the Mid-Tier business inspections personally this year. Is there a problem, Miss?"
Milla stood frozen. "No. No, of course not. It's just... an honour."
"Good," Kaelen said, his gaze drifting toward the back of the shop. "Then let us begin with the storage areas."
Eira's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Why would he start with the cellar? It was a small, inconvenient part of the bakery.
But there was no time for questions.
She slipped into the back room, yanked up the trapdoor, and scrambled down the ladder into the cellar.
Soren was already standing, his hand instinctively hovering over the violet lantern. He had heard the heavy footsteps above.
He looked at Eira, his eyes wide with the realization that the "nice man" wasn't coming.
"It's Kaelen," Eira hissed, rushing to his side. "He's coming down here. You have to stay perfectly still. Not a sound, Soren."
She grabbed his arm, pulling him into the deepest shadow behind the largest grain sacks. Pip crawled under Soren's oversized sweater, shivering.
Eira pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her hand finding Soren's. His skin was ice-cold, and she could feel the tremors running through his fingers.
"I'm here," she whispered, "He won't come here for-."
The cellar's door slowly creaked open, cutting her off. Eira's eyes widened.
Warden Kaelen descended with a slowly agonizing pace. He wasn't using a standard lantern; he carried a specialized Warden's glass that emitted a harsh, cold white light that stripped the shadows away.
"It's quite damp down here, Miss Wilhelmilla," Kaelen said, staring into the gloom. "Not very ideal for flour storage."
Eira uncontiously squeezed Soren's hand, her palm slick with sweat.
The violet light was leaking out from behind his fingers, casting a faint glow against the stone.
Stop it, Eira pleaded silently, staring at the lantern in horror. Please, stay dark.
Kaelen reached the bottom. His gaze lingered for a second on the folded burlap sack where Pip usually slept.
"You've been tidying," Kaelen remarked. He began to walk toward their corner, the crunch of his boots on the stray grains of sand sounding like thunderclaps.
Eira felt Soren stir slightly. She tightened her grip on his hand, digging her nails in just enough to anchor him. She moved slightly in front of him, using her cloak to try to shield the last of the light.
"Is someone there?" Kaelen asked softly. He stopped ten feet away. The beam of his light began to tilt upward, rising toward the very sacks they were hiding behind.
"Warden!"
The sharp call came from the top of the stairs. It was Milla. Her voice was high, strained, and breathless. "Warden Kaelen! I-I've just realized! The Aurelians left their boutique wine crate in the pantry! I thought you might want to inspect the vintage seals before they... spoil."
The light stopped moving. It hovered inches from Eira's face, blinded by the edge of a grain bag.
Kaelen remained silent for a long beat. Eira could see the silhouette of his peaked cap against the wall. Then, he let out a short, dry chuckle.
"The Aurelians are indeed very particular about their seals," Kaelen said. He turned away. "We wouldn't want any irregularities to go unnoticed."
He climbed the ladder, the trapdoor shutting with a heavy, final thud. The bolt slid across.
The cellar plunged back into darkness. Eira collapsed against the wall, her knees finally giving out. Soren caught her, his breath coming in ragged, shivering gasps.
"That was too close," he rasped, his voice shaking.
"He knows," Eira whispered. "He didn't see you, but I think he knows something is here."