Morning found them both heavier than usual.
Not from the eggs—though Inigo had insisted on cooking three each, "for balance"—but from the ring now locked in the guild's vault. It wasn't on their table, it wasn't in their hands, but they could still feel its weight in the air, like iron hidden beneath the floorboards.
Lyra laced her boots slowly, eyes distant. Inigo tied his apron. Neither spoke until Riko banged open the shutters and a wave of plaza chatter rolled in.
"People are already chanting out there!" Riko crowed. "They're saying you two stole gold from a lord's hand while he slept!"
Lyra groaned. "We were seen. How in the blazes does that become asleep?"
"Because songs are lazier than facts," Inigo muttered, flipping the fryer flame to life.
