"If she tries to stab you, it means she likes you."
Lysandra didn't look comforted by my logic. She adjusted the collar of her stolen grey cloak, trying to hide the gleam of her silver armor, but she walked with a posture that screamed 'I am royalty and I am judging your sanitation.'
"This place," she whispered, stepping over a puddle of questionable liquid on Tanner Street. "It smells like death."
"It's a butcher shop," Kaelen muttered from under his hood. "It's supposed to smell like death. It means the meat is fresh. Or at least, present."
We stopped in front of a building that looked like it was held together by grease and bad intentions. A wooden sign creaked above the door: THE CLEAVER & CORK. Inside, carcasses of pigs and cows hung from hooks, swaying slightly in the draft.
"Let me do the talking," Kaelen said. "Red knows me. She doesn't know you."
"She knows of me," Lysandra said dryly. "I'm on the Wanted posters next to you."
