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The mother halts so abruptly her skirts swish around her ankles. Worry flickers across her face. But then she, too, notices her daughter’s guilty expression. She steps forward and crouches in front of the little girl.

“Do you know something about this?” she demands. “If you heard something, you have to tell us right now.”

The girl’s lower lip trembles. Her eyes brim with tears, and then she throws herself into her mother’s arms. The boy sees her sobbing and immediately joins in, face scrunched, tears flowing as he clutches his mother’s neck.

I press my lips together to hold back a laugh and glance at the older girl, who’s glaring daggers at her sister.

“Gods, you’re such a baby . I’m never trusting you with another secret in my life.”

She reminds me so much of Irrin, my sister, sharp-tongued and fiercely protective. A pang of homesickness catches me off guard. I miss them more than I want to admit. And now, with the thieves having stolen their letters, I’ve lost another lifeline to my family.

The ache sharpens into anger, hot and bitter. I glare at the merchant. He straightens and moves to question his daughter.

“Were you playing in the attic?” he demands.

She clenches her hands, shifting on her feet, clearly uneasy but not cowed. She’s not afraid of him. Her worry seems to stem more from guilt than fear. She’s realizing this isn’t just a game anymore.

“We were only playing dress-up with some of Mama’s old clothes,” she admits, her voice small. “There was a scratching noise on the roof, and Ellie thought it might be pigeons, but I told her it must be a cat, because pigeons don’t make that much noise.”

“Cats don’t, either,” I tell her. “They’re very nimble and walk softly. Can you show me the part of the attic where you heard the noise?”

She nods and steps forward, face pale but determined. She climbs the stairs with surprising speed, the rest of us trailing after her.

At the top floor, she points to a hatch door in the ceiling. She demonstrates how she and her sister hooked the ladder in place and climbed up. Watching her, I have to agree with the parents. This isn’t a safe space for children to play, let alone human ones, who aren’t as sturdy as orcs.

The wife glowers at her husband as she watches their daughter, and he flushes again.

“I’ll get a lock for that trapdoor,” he mumbles, pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her head. “First thing tomorrow.”

“See that you do,” she replies, but she hugs him around the waist, too.

It’s an uncharacteristic show of affection for humans, who are usually much more reserved, and it does nothing to settle my need to find my mate.

I turn away before they can see the jealousy in my expression and misinterpret it.

I don’t want this woman—or the man. But I am jealous of their life, no matter how ugly that thought is.

They have a home, a family, and a loving relationship. What more could a person want?

Instead of wallowing in those thoughts, I follow the girls up to the attic.

Now that the younger has calmed down, she proves to be a skilled climber as well, which tells me they’ve done this more often than their parents realize.

The father climbs up after me, but the mother refuses to let the boy follow and waits downstairs with him.

“Well?” the merchant says to his daughters. “Where were you playing, then?”

“Over here,” the younger answers, weaving around some boxes and a stack of old chairs to avoid dirtying her skirts. “We found this old chest full of pretty dresses.”

I duck my head under the exposed roof beams and make straight for a grimy rooftop window that looks like it hasn’t been opened in years.

I nudge the latch, and it creaks open, spilling pale light into the dim attic.

We all squint at the sudden change, and the merchant coughs as a cloud of dust and debris trickles down around us.

I pause, listening, then carefully stick my head through the opening.

I don’t think the thieves would be skulking on rooftops during the day, but I also don’t want to get stabbed in the eye for startling them.

My shoulders bump against the window frame, too broad to fit.

I curse softly, then shift around as much as I can.

There’s the edge of the roof, and beyond it, the roof of the inn—probably.

I can’t be certain, but I think I’m facing the right direction.

And there, in the shadow of the gable of the next house, lies a discarded apple core, browned from being left out overnight.

They watched me from up here.

For a brief moment, I consider asking one of the girls to scramble up and check the roof for more clues, but I discard the idea immediately. Even if their father allowed it, I wouldn’t risk their safety.

“Were they here?” the man asks from beside me.

I pull my head back in and shuffle to the part of the attic where I can stand almost straight, the top of my head just brushing the rafters.

“Almost certainly. The vantage point is ideal for watching the inn, which I suspect is exactly what they were doing.” I gesture toward the window.

“You should get that latch fixed. I’d also recommend installing metal grates over the windows and keeping the attic locked, just to be sure. ”

The man swallows hard, clearly considering the implications.

It would be so easy for someone to enter through here.

Not an orc, perhaps—most of my clansmen would have trouble fitting through the small windows—but a human, especially a slight one, could easily break the glass and drop down.

They could ransack the house and carry the valuables out the same way.

“Thank you for letting me up here,” I say as we make our way back downstairs, somewhat dustier than before. “And please report any strange incidents to the city watch. Major Strahl’s office.”

“Of course,” the father promises. He opens the front door to let me out. “Thank you for, ah, bringing the issue to my attention.”

I bow to his wife, then to the children, just to make them smile.

The older daughter steps forward. “Will you catch the thieves, sir?”

I grin down at her. “Aye, I will. I promise.”