I watched two humans haggle ferociously with a troll over a sack of color-changing potatoes, the negotiations punctuated by small magical sparks.
"Okay," I looked at my hastily scrawled list. "I need actual food, not whatever that vending machine thinks I should eat. Fresh fruit, vegetables, pasta…"
"Protein," Rook interrupted. "You need more protein."
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you my nutritionist now?"
"You're too thin," he frowned, then immediately looked like he regretted speaking.
"I'm many things, but 'too thin' has never been one of them," I laughed, patting my round stomach. "But I appreciate the concern. We'll get protein too."
We made our way through the market, Rook took my bag from me and we gradually filled it with actual food instead of the "nutritionally optimized" food the Bureau's vending machine provided.
I lingered over a display of peaches, testing each one for ripeness.
"These look good," I held one up to Rook. "Want one?"
He leaned in, sniffing it cautiously. The proximity sent an unexpected flutter through my stomach. He was close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his amber eyes, the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
"Too soft," he selected a different one and placed it in my hand. "This one's better."
Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and I could have sworn I felt him tense at the contact. I quickly added the peach toour bag, and tried to ignore the lingering warmth where his skin had touched mine.
As we moved through the stalls, I was surprised to find Rook becoming more engaged. He had opinions about bread (That one smells like chemicals), cheese (Too processed), and pasta (Get the kind with protein). When we reached a specialty stall with magical ingredients, he even cracked another joke about moon-phase sensitive werewolf treats that had me giggling like an idiot.
"I didn't know you could be funny," I admitted as we navigated around a goblin vendor aggressively promoting something labeled "Probably Edible! No Refunds!"
"I have my moments," Rook shrugged, but there was a softness to his expression I hadn't seen before.
We turned down the next area, where two spell vendors were having a heated argument over shelf space, their competing enchantments causing nearby products to rattle ominously. Rook steered me away with a light touch at my elbow, his hand warm and steady.
"See?" I smiled up at him as we moved toward a stall that had some dairy products. "Normal grocery shopping. No prophecy disasters, no reality breaches, just two people buying food like regular…"
"GET DOWN!" Rook suddenly shoved me behind a display of magical yogurt, his body covering mine as something whizzed over our heads.
The yogurt display exploded, splattering us with blueberry-infused probiotic culture. Shoppers screamed and scattered as four figures in floral-print aprons emerged from behind a stall, their hands glowing with sinister energy.
"Cultists," Rook growled, his eyes flashing yellow. "Disguised as produce vendors."
"Seriously?" I wiped yogurt from my face. "I can't even grocery shop without this prophecy bullshit following me?"
One of the cultists, a woman with an unnaturally wide smile and a name tag reading "Happy to Help!" pointed at us. "The Chalice-Bearer! Seize her for the Master!"
Rook pushed me further behind him, his body beginning to change as claws extended from his fingertips. "Stay behind me."
"Like hell," I grabbed a can of enchanted whipped cream from a nearby stall and sprayed it at the nearest cultist. The cream expanded on contact, encasing his head in a sugary foam prison. He stumbled backward, clawing at his face.
The second cultist, a thin man with dead eyes, reached into his apron and pulled out what looked like an ancient stone, covered in runes similar to the ones on my arm. Before I could react, he hurled it directly at us.
Rook lunged to intercept it, but the stone grazed his side before clattering to the floor. He stumbled, a pained growl escaping him as an angry red burn spread across his ribs, visible through his now-torn shirt.
"Rook!" I reached for him as he fell to one knee, his face contorted in pain.
"It's nothing," he gritted out, though the magical burn was clearly anything but. Despite his injury, he half-transformed, features sharpening, muscles bulging as he launched himself at the cultist who'd thrown the stone. He pinned the man to the ground, claws at his throat.
The third cultist and the woman circled around, cutting off my escape route. The woman's hands crackled with dark energy as she approached.
"Come quietly, Vessel." Her voice had an unnatural echo. "The Harbingers await your arrival."
