The canvas bag on Loccy's back shuddered twice, then the second lid flew open with a muffled cough. A small figure tumbled out onto the slag, a squashed pastry clutched in her fist, crumbs flying everywhere.
"Nyra, you were in the pies the whole time!"
"Bread," Nyra said, holding up the pastry as proof.
"Tch, I smelled cinnamon and thought it was only Loccy," Juna muttered, sniffing at the lid.
"I built that second lid for a ham, not a daughter," Ferra said, rubbing the hinge with her thumb.
Vella floated three feet off the ground, staring down at the horned girl sitting in a nest of crumbs. She felt the old twist in her chest, the one she never admitted to, tighten around the poor child.
"That explains why the bread was dense," Aria said from Hajin's shoulder, "my sensors are now deeply ashamed."
"The door's melted, Scrap, so she's coming with us whether you shout or not," Ferra said, tapping the wall.
