Rowan
A woman emerged. Middle-aged, with the same sharp features as the old lady but softened by youth. A white powdery substance that might be flour but didn't smell like it dusted her apron, and her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows.
She stopped short when she saw us.
"Mother." Her gaze moved from the old woman to me, then to Violet, then to the crate in my arms.
"Visitors," the old woman said briskly, extracting her arm from Violet's hold. "From the lower levels, apparently. The young man helped me carry my things. The girl kept me from cracking my skull on the street."
The younger woman's expression didn't shift the way her mother's had. No suspicion or searching looks. She simply nodded and stepped aside.
"Ma, I told you not to go out. I was coming to search for you," the woman grumbled, a small frown directed at her mother.
From somewhere inside the house, the sound of children's laughter erupted, followed by a crash and a shriek.
