It was boiling in the tavern, Uma and her cronies scattered about, doing their business. You were quiet. Real, quiet. You snuck around the side, body wound tight with tension. You’d been dared to steal something, anything. People would respect you if they knew you took from Uma and her gang.

“Lost your way, little duckling?”

Harry asked, tilting his head, his shadow covering you from behind, deep Scottish accent stilling you in place. This wasn’t good.