The Exchange doors closed behind Mira with a sound like a lock turning.
She had told herself she wouldn't come back. After the pale-eyed woman's last offer, after the suggestion she surrender her love for Jalen, Mira had sworn never to set foot in this place again. But desperation was a powerful current, and she was drowning in it.
Jalen was too close to the truth. His questions cut deeper every day. She had to keep him afloat, keep him bright, long enough for him to stop tearing holes in the fragile walls she'd built.
And so she returned.
The pale-eyed woman was waiting, her smile sharp as glass. "Ah," she said softly, "the prodigal sister. I knew you would come."
Mira clenched her fists. "I need more happiness. Enough to last him. Enough to silence his doubts."
The woman tilted her head. "And what will you offer in return? You've given much already. Laughter. Poetry. Wonder. Trust. What remains that carries equal weight?"
Mira's breath hitched. "Take… take a memory."
The woman's pale eyes gleamed. "Which one?"
Mira hesitated. Her childhood was already tattered, her simple joys stripped bare. She thought of her mother's voice, of the lullabies she used to hum in the dark. She thought of the first night Jalen slept through his grief without crying.
No. She couldn't lose those.
The woman leaned closer, whispering like a lover. "What about fire?"
Mira frowned. "Fire?"
"Yes," the woman said, her smile widening. "The memory of warmth. The feeling of sitting beside a flame, of light dancing across your skin, of heat against cold. It is powerful, primal. Give it to me, and I will give you enough happiness to drown his doubts for months."
Mira's stomach twisted. Fire had always been her comfort—the flicker of a candle in their small apartment, the blaze of the hearth on winter nights. To lose it would mean surrendering not just warmth, but the sense of safety it carried.
But Jalen's smile flashed in her mind. His laughter. His life.
She closed her eyes. "Take it."
The woman's fingers brushed Mira's temple, cool and merciless.
A rush of emptiness followed. The crackle of fire, the warmth of heat, the glow of orange light—vanished. When Mira opened her eyes, the world felt colder, darker. Even the lanterns of the Exchange seemed dimmer, their glow harsh and lifeless.
The woman placed a vial of golden liquid in her hands. "Happiness, distilled. Enough to silence him. For now."
Mira cradled it as though it were life itself, though her body shivered as if the chill of winter had already claimed her bones.
Meanwhile, Jalen was not idle.
He sat at the kitchen table, Mira's note clenched in his hand. Don't follow me. Trust me.
But trust was no longer possible.
The empty vial he had found weighed heavier than stone. And in the alleys of Veylin, whispers of the Exchange flowed freely for those willing to listen.
That night, he slipped from the apartment and followed the threads of rumor. A man in a tavern told him of a building with no sign, where the desperate went to pay with more than coin. A woman at a market stall muttered warnings of pale-eyed keepers who dealt in sorrow and joy.
By midnight, Jalen stood at the edge of a district he had never dared enter before—the heart of the Exchange's shadows.
The buildings loomed taller here, their windows shuttered, their doors silent. But somewhere within, he knew, was the truth.
Back in the apartment, Mira placed the vial beside Jalen's bed.
She watched him sleep, his face serene, and her heart cracked open.
She wanted to wake him, to confess everything, to tell him that his joy was her ruin. But as she brushed her fingers against his hair, she knew she couldn't.
Because to confess would be to undo everything.
Instead, she whispered into the darkness, "I'll keep you safe. No matter what I have to lose."
And outside, in the streets, Jalen whispered a promise of his own:
"I'll find out what you've done, Mira. Even if it destroys me."