Ever since that bad job a month ago, they’d been down on their luck, and the only things her brother had been able to successfully swipe lately was somebody’s extremely unappetizing lunch. Perhaps unappetizing was the wrong word. It was disgusting. Gretel tossed the moldy bread aside and rummaged through the basket for anything else that might taste better, but all she found was a pair of bruised peaches. She hurled one at the wall in frustration, but before the fruit hit the stones a hand shot out and snagged it. Jack, the third and newest member of their team. He raised an eyebrow at her, lifted the peach to his lips, and took a bite. “This is a perfectly good peach,” he said, in the kind of tone her father would have used with her if he hadn’t abandoned them to a witch in the woods a lifetime ago. “It’s bruised,” Gretel muttered. Jack shrugged. He ate the entire thing, bruises and all, then sucked the juice from his fingers and tossed the pit through the grate that peeked out onto the street above.
