Elara's POV
"My workshop!" Elara screamed, trying to run toward the flames.
Dorian's grip tightened on her arm, holding her back. "Are you insane? You'll die!"
"Everything I have is in there!" She fought against him, watching orange fire eat through her tiny workshop. The roof collapsed with a horrible crash, sending sparks into the night sky. "Let me go!"
"There's nothing left to save." Dorian pulled her into a darker part of the alley as people started shouting and running toward the fire. "Listen to me—that wasn't an accident."
Elara stopped struggling and stared at him. "What?"
"Someone set that fire. Someone who wants you dead." His gray eyes were deadly serious. "We need to leave. Now."
Her mind spun. Someone tried to kill her? Who? Why?
Before she could ask, Dorian was dragging her through the maze of alleys, moving fast. Elara's legs felt like water, but she forced herself to keep up. Behind them, she could hear the fire crackling and people screaming for water.
Everything was gone. Her workbench. Her few bottles and tools. The half-molded bread. The leaky ceiling she'd hated so much.
Gone.
"Where are we going?" she gasped.
"Somewhere safe." Dorian turned down another alley. "Somewhere they won't look for you."
"Who's 'they'?"
He didn't answer.
They ran for what felt like forever, until Elara's lungs burned and her side ached. Finally, Dorian stopped in front of a rusty metal door built into a stone wall. He knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more.
The door creaked open.
Warm air and noise poured out—voices haggling, glass clinking, the smell of herbs and smoke. Elara's eyes widened as she recognized where they were.
The underground market.
"You know about this place?" she asked Dorian, shocked.
"I know about lots of things." He pushed her gently through the door. "Stay close and don't talk to anyone."
The market stretched out before them like a secret city beneath the real one. Stalls and tables lined the walls, lit by floating magical lanterns. People crowded everywhere—some in rags like Elara, others in fine clothes trying to hide their faces behind hoods.
This was where desperate people came to buy and sell illegal magic. Potions the Guild wouldn't approve. Enchantments that broke the law. Dark magic that could get you executed.
And Elara came here every week to survive.
"Elara!"
She turned and saw Lyra pushing through the crowd, her wild black curls bouncing. Her best friend's face was tight with worry.
"Thank the stars you're alive!" Lyra grabbed her in a fierce hug. "I heard about the fire. Someone said you were inside—"
"I'm fine." Elara hugged her back, suddenly wanting to cry. Lyra was the only person who'd stayed loyal after the scandal. The only friend she had left. "I got out."
Lyra pulled back and noticed Dorian standing behind Elara. Her eyes went huge. "Is that... Dorian Ashcroft? The Dorian Ashcroft?"
"Unfortunately," Elara muttered.
"I'm right here," Dorian said dryly.
Lyra looked between them, confused. "What's a rich mechanical magic inventor doing in the underground market? Did you get lost looking for a jewelry store?"
Despite everything, Elara almost smiled. That was Lyra—sharp and funny even in terrible situations.
"He claims someone's trying to kill me," Elara said.
"What?" Lyra's hand went to the knife she always kept hidden in her boot. "Who?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Elara turned to Dorian. "Start talking. How did you know about the fire? Why were you in the slums? And why should I believe anything you say?"
Dorian glanced around the crowded market. "Not here. Too many ears."
"Then we have a problem, because I'm not going anywhere with you until you explain." Elara crossed her arms, trying to look braver than she felt. Her whole body was shaking—from running, from fear, from everything.
Dorian studied her face for a long moment. Then he sighed. "Fine. Short version: I've been tracking some dangerous people. People who don't want alchemy and mechanical magic working together. They've been eliminating anyone they see as a threat."
"And I'm a threat? I'm nobody. I sell cheap healing potions in alleys."
"You're not nobody." Something intense flashed in Dorian's eyes. "You never were."
The way he said it made Elara's stomach flutter, which was stupid. This was Dorian Ashcroft—her rival, the person who'd made fun of her "outdated alchemy" for four years at university.
"This is insane," she said. "I need to sell my potion and buy food. That's all I care about right now."
She reached into her coat pocket for the healing potion she'd made.
The pocket was empty.
"No, no, no..." Elara patted all her pockets frantically. The bottle was gone. It must have fallen out when she ran from the fire.
Her only way to eat for the next three days. Gone.
Lyra saw her face and understood immediately. "Oh, Elara."
"I have nothing," Elara whispered. The words came out broken. "I have absolutely nothing left."
"Here." Lyra pressed a small cloth bag into her hands. It clinked with coins. "From my sales tonight. Take it."
"I can't—"
"You can and you will." Lyra's voice was fierce. "We take care of each other. That's how we survive."
Elara's throat burned with unshed tears. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Touching," Dorian said. "But we really need to leave. The people who burned your workshop will realize you escaped. They'll come looking."
"Let them come," Elara said, anger replacing her despair. "I'm tired of running. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of losing everything while people like Marcus get to—"
She stopped.
Across the crowded market, near a stall selling rare ingredients, she saw him.
Marcus.
Her ex-fiancé. The man who'd stolen her research and destroyed her life.
He was here. In the illegal underground market. Why?
And standing next to him, laughing at something he said, was Celeste.
Her sister.
They looked happy. Beautiful. Rich in their fine clothes.
Using her work. Living her life.
Elara's hands clenched into fists. Two years of rage boiled up inside her chest like one of her potions about to explode.
"Elara?" Lyra touched her arm. "What's wrong?"
But Elara wasn't listening anymore. She was staring at Marcus and Celeste, at the way they stood so close together, at the way Celeste's hand rested possessively on Marcus's arm.
Then Marcus reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial.
Elara's breath stopped.
She knew that vial. She'd made hundreds just like it in her father's laboratory.
It was one of her emotion-based alchemy formulas. The advanced kind. The kind Marcus shouldn't be able to create because he didn't understand how they worked.
Marcus handed the vial to a hooded figure. Money changed hands.
He was selling her research. Her father's legacy. Here in the black market like a common criminal.
"That lying, thieving—" Elara started forward.
Dorian grabbed her arm again. "Don't. Not here. Not now."
"He's selling my work!" Elara's voice came out too loud. Several people turned to look.
Including Marcus.
Their eyes met across the market.
For one second, Marcus's face went pale with shock. Then his expression changed to something cruel and calculating.
He smiled.
And pulled out a whistle.
The sharp sound cut through the market noise like a knife.
Suddenly, Guild enforcers poured through every entrance, their official badges glowing with authority magic.
"RAID!" someone screamed.
The market exploded into chaos.
People ran in every direction, knocking over stalls, shoving and trampling each other. Magical items crashed to the ground and shattered.
"He called the guards on his own illegal deal?" Lyra said, shocked. "Is he insane?"
"No," Dorian said grimly, already pulling Elara toward the nearest exit. "He's smart. He gets away clean while everyone else gets arrested. Including Elara."
An enforcer spotted them and pointed. "You three! Stop!"
They ran.