Bri turned toward the voice with a wicked grin. “Thought you could get rid of me that easily?”

An elderly witch appeared beside Lina, her weathered brown hands touching her totem bag as she looked at Bri.

“It was worth a try,” Lina huffed. “How did you know I’d come here?”

“You said thieves can pass out judgment as they see fit.” Bri’s tone filled with menace. “And of all the people you received today, this man is the one I’d like to see judgment passed out on the most.”

“Agreed,” Lina said, gesturing to the witch. “This is Baba Omly, High Priestess of the brown witches. She knows who I am.”

Bri’s eyes widened as she looked at the elderly witch. She had short coils of gray hair, a warm face, and glowing brown eyes.

“That I do, Airev,” the witch said with a deep, rasping chuckle.

“What’s a High Priestess doing in Southside?” Bri furrowed her brow.

Baba Omly gave a calm smile. “I am a healer. This is where our magic is needed most.”

Bri considered the High Priestess. She had expected her to be presiding over a grand temple somewhere, not a rancid back alley. Royal fae and High Priestesses were known to work together, but this . . . It was foolish for a ruler to be gallivanting around without protection, so headstrong, and yet, she respected Lina for it. Bri glanced into the shadows of Lina’s hood. She would probably do the same thing if she were in Lina’s position.

Stepping forward, Lina rapped on the door. A delicate, light knock—an odd sound in this part of town, where people were probably more used to hearing pounding fists. Not a peep came in reply, but the door string was tied to the inner nail, signaling someone had shut the door from inside.

“I wouldn’t open the door for strangers around these parts either,” Bri muttered.

“Hello?” Lina slipped her hand through the gap in the door and unhooked it. “We’re not here to hurt you.” She took another step into the dark room.

The sight of the space—an overturned table, splinters of wood, and glass shards scattered across the muddy floor—made Bri’s chest tighten.

“Gods,” she whispered.

They pushed further into the room. Straw poked from the bed on the floor and the curtains were torn to shreds . . . apart from one. She and Lina exchanged glances, spotting the telltale bump behind the curtain.

Lina carefully stepped over the broken glass and gently pulled the curtain aside.

The woman flinched, lifting her hands to shield her face. Her baby slept wrapped against her chest, none the wiser. But her face . . .

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lina hushed, crouching down beside her.