Nevara
I barely made it through the doorway before I saw him.
Thoren stood at the head of the table, one hand holding something small, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion, like he was trying to decide whether he was being tested or mocked.
He looked up the second I entered.
“Why,” he asked slowly, lifting it slightly, “is there a sticky bun in this toy oven?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, already fighting the smile threatening to break through.
“Okay,” I said, setting my hands on the back of a chair as I tried to keep my voice steady, “say it again… but this time drop the word sticky and the word toy.”
He frowned slightly, clearly not seeing it yet, but he humored me anyway.
“Why is there a bun in the oven—”
He stopped.
I watched it happen.
The exact
