I shoved past Kai, bounded down the wooden stairs three at a time, and nearly lost my footing on the slick bottom landing. The crash had come from the back storage room behind the kitchen, where the air still smelled like old lard, dried cabbage, and rotten floor wax.
When I kicked the door open, the sight made my stomach drop into my boots.
Shattered glass from a dozen pickle jars covered the floor in oily brine. Malachi was pressed hard against a stack of flour sacks, one hand clutching his side while he struggled to catch his breath. Standing right over him was Liora, but she did not look like the sweet, quiet orphan girl she had spent the last month pretending to be.
