The food came quickly — a steaming plate of stew, fresh bread, and a small cup of warm milk. The smell made Oliver's own stomach grumble, but he slid the plate toward Nyra first.
"Alright," Serena said, sitting across from them, chin resting in her palm. "You'd better start explaining before my staff thinks I've adopted a runaway thief."
Oliver chuckled sheepishly. "Yeah… well, I kinda zoned out while walking after dinner. Next thing I know, I'm in some grimy alley in the bad part of town. This one—" he tilted his head toward Nyra "—comes barreling into me like a scared rabbit. And then these guys show up yelling about catching her and putting a price on her head. Slave traders. About five or six of them. Maybe more."
Serena's face darkened at the word slavers.
"So," Oliver continued, leaning back in his chair, "I may have… carved them up a little. Just a bit."
"Just a bit?" Serena gave him a flat look, though there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
