The peasant gave the visitor a quick once-over, unable to help admiring the bird in the cage. Beautiful. Quiet. Calm.

  What did Yanael need it for?

  Not her business.

  Her gaze slid over the elf’s face, pausing on the scar, then on the prosthetic where his arm should have been. Rusted. Could use some oil.

  Blinking, Ivy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the door.

  — You’re at the right place. The boss is here, just not in the mood to see anyone. But if it can’t wait — go ahead. Leave it on the table. You can try waking her yourself while you’re at it.

  She pushed off the door and stepped aside. Didn’t go far — she still had to close it afterward. And honestly, the elf intrigued her.

  The man entered, immediately noticing the sleeping elf. He walked slowly toward the table without taking his eyes off her. Then he set the cage down on the old surface and tapped the metal with his hand.

  — Shitty place. Couldn’t find anything better?

  A rhetorical question.

  He glanced at the sleeping elf again, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

  — How can you be this careless… You, human girl — no idea what you’re doing here. When she wakes up, tell her he’s still alive. I saw him.

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  He turned and headed for the exit. Passing Ivy, he nudged her aside to get through. Crossed the threshold — and slammed the door hard behind him, probably misjudging his strength.

  — Come again anytime.

  Ivy flinched, then shifted her shoulders uncomfortably and walked to the table, crouching near the cage.

  Her head buzzed with thoughts. What exactly was going on? What was Yanael hiding?

  Didn’t matter.

  She was just a worker here. Not supposed to dig into anyone’s soul. Work. Get paid. That’s it. That’s what mattered. The rest — whatever. If the elf wanted to talk, she would.

  Ivy studied the cage and offered the bird a faint smile.

  — Hello there, little chick.

  An understatement. That “chick” could probably claw her eyes out without much effort. Still, Ivy stayed calm.

  The image of the strange elf with the rusted prosthetic lingered in her mind. His words too.

  She looked toward the still-sleeping Yanael.

  — Boss, they brought you a bird. Don’t tell me you forgot! What are you naming him? Come on, wake up! You had so much energy yesterday. Look at this handsome bastard!

  — It’s still so early… Why are you torturing me…

  The blonde rolled onto her back, rubbing her gray, sleep-heavy eyes. Her dress nearly slipped off her shoulder, but Yanael barely seemed to notice.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and looked toward the cage. Squinting against the daylight, she broke into a grin.

  — Oh! They already brought Dickling. Nice! Gotta go buy him something to eat later. Just wait till I stand up — everyone’s gonna lose their shit.

  — That’s really what you’re calling him?

  Ivy laughed but quickly grew serious. She had to say it.

  — Listen, Yanael. That elf with the rusted prosthetic was here. Said someone — probably someone you know — is still alive. He’s seen him. I’m not asking who. Just passing it on.

  After that, Ivy turned back to the cage, deliberately blind to whatever reaction might follow. She didn’t want to pry, so she focused on the eagle instead.

  Was it a he? She? Cute, in its own way.

  Vince had once mentioned birds elves kept back in Homeland. What were they called again? She barely remembered.

  Ivy stepped barefoot onto the table and stretched. Then she shifted back, appearing relaxed — but only on the surface. Suddenly she jumped backward and up, landing on her hands, holding herself steady, keeping rhythm. Lowered, lifted — like a controlled pull-up from the ground.

  Her limbs obeyed well, though she couldn’t hold it long. She dropped back to her feet and walked toward her boots.

  Yanael finally rose from the floor and adjusted her dress properly. She looked at the cage again. Then out the window. Somewhere far away.

  — Alive, huh. Well, fuck him then.

  She laughed.

  Her fingers brushed along the cage as she gave the bird a small wave, almost like greeting it. Then she turned, approached Ivy, bent slightly — and slowly, gently pressed a kiss to the dark-skinned girl’s cheek.

  — Thanks for taking him in for me, tasty little gopher.

  Yanael stretched, lifting her arms one after the other above her head.