Not every market screams. This one was a narrow crawl carved into a seam, lit with a few sealed lamps and slow traders who traded in whispers.
They slipped inside like thieves. The place smelled of spice and damp cloth. Lanterns hung close. People moved with their heads down. The deals were small and cheap — a cut of meat for a favor, a rope for a secret.
Lyra was not here. Her influence was — names passed quietly, favors paid without witnesses. Someone traded a token for a map folded so small it could hide in the fist.
Kael watched. This is where people move things you don't want the Ledger to see. A hand-off under a cloth. A token slipped into a boot. The world felt like a pocket where secrets were kept.
They traded for a small jar of salt — worth less than a token but useful. Riven complained the whole time; he loves to complain. Seren negotiated with one glance and a folded scrap. Kael paid with a gut-feeling, handing over a token he wished he'd not spent.
A hushed voice told them of rumors. "Hollow recorded twice," a trader murmured. He folded his hands like he was saying a prayer and not giving a warning. Kael swallowed. Twice. The word felt heavier than the coins in his pocket.
"Not here," Seren wrote. Keep moving. Her note was quiet and polite, like a warning tucked into a sleeve.
They left the market sticky with the smell of toasted grain and low secrets. The quiet market had given them something small — salt and a rumor. The rumor stuck like glue.
A hush slid through the stalls like wind through dry leaves.
BOOOONG.
The sound rolled like a low sea. For a moment every lantern dimmed, every voice broke off. The market froze in motion. Then life returned. People blinked as if waking from a short bad dream.
Kael felt Lyra's absence like a presence. Her hand was in everything here — a name mentioned, a favor owed. People didn't speak her name; they spoke of what she could make happen. That was her power: being the quiet place where debts found new hands.
They walked out with pockets lighter and worries heavier. The ledger's scratch kept moving in Kael's head. Twice recorded. Always watched.
He kept the Key warm in his palm. It felt like the only honest thing he carried.