They didn't walk in any real direction. Nathan kept pointing things out like a bored local pretending to be a guide.
"That place has the worst flatbread on the continent," he said, nodding toward a faded orange awning. "I'm serious. They serve it with jam. Jam."
"I like jam," said Elara.
"On bread, sure. On tile grout, not so much."
They passed under a vine-wrapped trellis where birds chirped from inside small bamboo cages. A merchant leaned against the post, sharpening a nail with his teeth. He didn't look up.
Elara veered off without a word. Something at a woven goods stall had caught her eye—thin thread bracelets, dyed in metallic colors that shimmered faintly when the light tilted.
"I'll catch up," she said.
Nathan didn't stop. He shifted slightly to the left when they crossed a bridge, avoiding the creak in the boards. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his head kept turning.
Merlin stayed beside him, one pace behind.
