"We're fine. Thank you."
She adds an extra potato to the bag, waving off my protest. "For the little one."
I'm reaching for my wallet when I see them.
Two men. Standing near the cheese vendor's stall, but not buying anything. Just watching. Asking questions.
They're wrong. Everything about them is wrong. Their clothes are too expensive, too clean. City clothes. Their shoes aren't meant for dirt roads and farm work. And the way they stand, alert, scanning.
My heart starts pounding.
One of them is talking to the cheese vendor, gesturing. I can't hear what he's saying, but I see the vendor shake his head. The man pulls something from his pocket, a photograph maybe, and shows it to him.
The vendor looks at it and shakes his head again.
Who are they looking for?
Draco. It has to be Draco's people. He's found me. After eighteen months, he's finally tracked me down.
Or—
They could be looking for Lupo.
I don't know which possibility terrifies me more.
"Mama, I want to see the baby chickens," Elena says, tugging on my hand. She's pointing to a stall across the square where a farmer is selling baby chicks.
"Not today, baby."
"But Mama—"
"Elena, no." I'm trying to keep my voice calm, but I can feel panic rising in my chest. The men are moving to the next vendor, getting closer.
We need to leave. Now.
"But I want to see them!" Elena's voice rises, that stubborn tone that means she's about to throw a tantrum.
"Elena, we're leaving." I grab her hand tighter and start pulling her toward the truck.
"No! I want to stay!" She plants her feet, and God help me, she's strong for a three-year-old.
"Elena, we are leaving right now." I scoop her up, and she immediately starts crying, loud and dramatic.
Every head in the market turns to look at us.
Including the two men.
Our eyes meet for just a second, me and the taller one, and I see him take a step toward us.
I run.
Not literally running, that would draw more attention. But I'm walking as fast as I can with a screaming toddler in my arms, heading straight for the truck. My heart is hammering so hard I can barely breathe.
"Mama, you're hurting me!"
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." I fumble with the truck door, nearly drop her getting her into the seat, my hands shaking so badly I can barely buckle her in.
I risk a glance back at the market. The men are still there, but they're not following. Just watching.
