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“Abbi worries over you,” said Jada. “He did not want any harm to come to you.”

By now, Hector was reasonably sure that abbi was a Valgan word referring to Asad. “But that... doesn’t explain why you decided to come.”

“Abbi worries over you. I worry over abbi.”

Hector supposed he couldn’t argue with that. Asad still had not fully recovered from his encounter with the Marauder of Calthos. Jada certainly had every reason to be concerned about him.

But Hector was also beginning to see how these sorts of things could very easily spiral out of control. Various strong-headed and well-meaning people all concerned about each other, all taking steps to protect each other, only for it to escalate matters in unexpected ways.

That was the kind of thing that a lord should be mindful of, Hector supposed.

Ugh.

For now, at least, he could be glad that the situation here had gone smoothly, more or less. There was still the matter of locating all of the stolen goods and ensuring fair distribution, but Hector was feeling good about their prospects now. And he felt even better when he and Jada entered the warehouse that he’d spotted earlier and found it filled to the rafters with food.

Most of it looked just as weird as the stuff he’d tasted back at the inn. Massive slabs of blackened meat, pungent even through the heavy cloth it was wrapped in. Tubs of stringy, white noodles and darkly purple rice. Barrels full of reddish, leafy vegetables that Garovel identified as a kind of rhubarb.

Hector wasn’t seeing any fruits, though, and wondered if that trend extended to the Undercrust as a whole. He was about to ask Garovel about it when a large gray box in the corner of the room caught his attention. He made his way over to it, looking for a door.

‘Oh my fucking god,’ said Garovel.

And Hector stopped, recognizing the reaper’s tone all too well. He didn’t even want to ask for elaboration.