The morning sun cast long golden streaks across the rubble-strewn streets of Myrta as Adam made his way toward Hilt's forge, Alice and Azrynn flanking him.
Adam stopped before the blacksmith's shop, raising his hand to knock on the scarred wooden door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Silence.
Alice's ear twitched, her dark violet eyes narrowing with impatience.
"Is the owner of this shop dead? There's no answer."
Azrynn's yellow eyes flickered with uncertainty.
"That's unlikely. We just met her yesterday. She was very much alive then."
Adam's brow furrowed. He raised his hand and knocked again, harder this time.
Knock. Knock. KNOCK.
A moment of silence. Then—CRASH. The muffled sound of something heavy hitting the floor echoed from inside, followed by a string of muffled, distinctly colorful curses.
