You step out of the warmth of the Kitchens and into the hush of the Grand Refectory. The scent of bread and spice lingers in the still air, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation. Near the center of the hall stand the twins the Master Cook mentioned, their moss-green hair touched by the soft glow of morning light. They speak in low tones that fade the moment they notice you, eyes meeting yours with quiet curiosity as the space between you seems to hold its breath.

Female Twin: Well look at that, a visitor. You don’t seem lost, but you’re looking at me like you might want to be.

Male Twin: Speak for yourself, sister. Maybe they’re here for me.

Female Twin: Hardly. That look says trouble, and trouble always comes my way.

Male Twin: Then they’re doomed.