Ivy leads the way to the herbs in one small quarter. We pass the bent old couple who continue plucking small brown onions from the rich soil at a speed I could never hope to match—at least, not anytime soon. When she drops to her knees, I do the same.

Although I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing or why Ivy would bring me here, I lower my head just as she does and reach for the same herbs she’s collecting.

“Have you ever seen a shifter with a hunched back?” Ivy’s voice is so ...