– Darcelle's POV
The house felt like a cage. Four arguments with her mother in a single day, and Darcelle's patience had already worn thin. Her mother's sharp voice still echoed in her ears as she stormed out, slamming the door hard enough that the wood rattled. She walked without direction, letting the streets of Astar swallow her frustration.
Her boots struck the dirt road in quick, clipped steps, the morning bustle only amplifying her mood. People traded, bargained, argued over vegetables and cloth. Every word, every raised voice, grated against her. She clenched the old piece of jewelry in her hand—a necklace she'd once thought precious. Now, it was just another reminder of her mother's endless control. She pushed the door of a pawn shop open, slapped the trinket on the counter, and left with a few coins jingling bitterly in her pocket.
"Better off without it," she muttered under her breath, though her chest tightened anyway.
As she walked through the crowded streets, her eyes scanned the faces around her—a habit she could never shake. A woman loudly praising her husband's honesty? Darcelle noted the shifting of the woman's gaze, the tremor in her smile. Liar. The young man haggling for bread, pretending to be poor? His boots alone cost more than the baker's stall. Pretender. Everywhere she looked, she saw the masks people wore. Hypocrites, the lot of them.
It was while she was sharpening judgments in her mind that a sudden commotion pulled her attention. Ahead, a crowd had formed around a stall. Shouts rose and fell, laughter and scorn twisting together. Curiosity tugged at her, though she hated to admit it. With a sigh, she pushed her way through the ring of bodies until she could see the table at the center.
An amulet lay there, glinting faintly in the sunlight. The crowd wasn't arguing over its beauty, though—no, the energy was sharper, hungrier.
Her eyes lingered on the trinket, unimpressed. "That's what they're fighting over?" she thought, lips twitching in disdain.
Just as she was about to leave, a man's mocking voice rose above the noise. "Let's make a deal then—whoever gets the Heart of Mei first wins the golden amulet of the Crown Prince!"
The words stopped Darcelle cold. She turned, her brow furrowing. The Heart of Mei? That cursed thing again.
She stepped closer, her voice slicing through the laughter. "Are you insane, or do you think life is a game you can wager like dice?"
The crowd chuckled, dismissing her sharp tone. "Just a joke, girl," someone replied. "Besides, whoever owns this amulet will receive the Crown Prince's favor. Worth more than any legend."
"More than the Heart of Mei?" Darcelle pressed, folding her arms.
"Maybe more, maybe less," another man scoffed. "Depends how foolish you are."
That was when one young man—ragged, sharp-eyed, carrying himself like a wolf cornered but unbroken—spoke up. "Only fools would waste their lives chasing fairy tales. An opportunity like this, and you still dream of the temple? Idiots."
The crowd turned on him like vultures.
"You thief, what do you know?" one sneered. "Lucky bastard, don't act so proud."
"Loser!" another spat. "Without scraps, you'd starve."
The boy sneered back, eyes flashing with contempt. "Better a thief than a brainless corpse. You want to trade your life for an amulet? Fine. You'll die, and I'll laugh when I steal it off your grave."
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the boy shoved past them, spitting curses under his breath.
Darcelle, despite herself, felt her lips curve. There was fire in his words, raw and unpolished. She followed, weaving through the crowd until she caught up with him.
"Bold speech back there," she said, her tone edged with mockery. "Though from what I hear, they were right—you're Elisha, the orphan thief. Or are you calling yourself something else these days?"
He stopped, turned, and narrowed his sea-blue eyes at her. There was defiance in his stare, but also a flash of weariness. "So you've been living in a rabbit hole? Everyone knows that name. Doesn't matter anymore." His gaze swept over her, unimpressed. "What I want to know is why you were so interested in that stupid deal. Planning to risk your neck for Mei's cursed heart too?"
Darcelle barked a sarcastic laugh, tilting her head. "Me? Please. I've seen enough of fools chasing ghosts. Don't mistake my curiosity for madness. Unlike you, I pick my battles."
He smirked faintly. "So you think you're above the rest of them? That you're smarter?"
"I know I am," she shot back smoothly. "You look at people and see rivals or prey. I look at people and see exactly what they are—liars, weaklings, dreamers. That's why I don't end up like them."
His smile faltered, replaced by something sharper. "And yet here you are, following me like a stray dog. If you're so clever, why bother?"
Heat flushed Darcelle's cheeks, though she masked it with a roll of her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I was curious. Now I'm not."
She turned to leave, but his voice trailed after her. "If you ever change your mind—if you ever decide you're mad enough to chase the Heart—then maybe you're just as foolish as the rest."
The words lodged in her chest, heavier than she expected. She didn't look back, didn't give him the satisfaction of a reply. But as she walked away, her thoughts churned.
Elisha. The orphan thief. The boy with fire in his eyes and scars hidden beneath his sharp tongue.
And for some reason she couldn't explain, Darcelle hated that she wanted to hear him speak again.
That night, the market's noise still rang in her ears, along with Elisha's mocking tone. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her small room, feeling the weight of the world pressing down. The Heart of Mei—everyone spoke of it, hungered for it, dreamed of it. But none returned. Why, then, did she feel her path had just crossed with someone who might drag her straight toward it?
She shut her eyes, but sleep did not come easily.
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