The very next morning, Luke and Ilyrana were already out the door. No lingering under blankets, no lazy yawning—they had a mission, and that mission was money. Or… the lack thereof.
The marketplace sat at the centre of Barcken like a pulsing heart, alive with voices, haggling, and wagon wheels grinding over dirt. Traders already had their wares displayed—bundles of spices, crates of salted meats, stacks of rough-milled cloth, rows of potions of dubious origin, and enough weapons to arm a small militia.
Luke squinted at a price tag.
"Five silvers? For dried fruit? That's robbery."
Ilyrana leaned inward, equally appalled.
"This is nearly twice the price we saw."
"Well… supplies are thinning after all. If only you two were much quicker than those who had left."
