She looked up when she heard me. Her smile was immediate and bright.
“Daddy.”
I lifted the snack bag in greeting. “Breakfast delivery.”
She giggled, but her gaze drifted past me, fixing on the person in front. When she turned, I figured it was the healer. She was in a hood, masked, her coat neat and professional. Her gait was steady, her posture composed, but something about her presence made my instincts sharpen.
She carried a bag of pastries, but she handled it with the precision of someone who understood more than simple baking. Myra reacted to her before she even spoke, leaning forward with an excitement that was hard to miss.
“Hello,” Myra called out. Her voice was hopeful, almost eager. “Look what I made.”
The Healer moved close enough to us and stopped in front of her. She low
