Chapter 3: The Bar With No Sign
Selene didn't take Kairo to the police.
She didn't take him to a shelter.
She took him somewhere that looked like it had never helped anyone for free.
The bar had no sign. No neon. Just a door painted the color of old bruises and a single bulb above it that flickered like it couldn't decide whether to warn you away.
Kairo paused in front of it.
The static under his skin didn't tug forward.
It tightened.
Not "go."
Not "run."
Just… be careful.
Selene glanced back. "Don't stare."
Kairo kept his voice low. "You trust this place?"
Selene's mouth tightened. "I trust that they don't like attention. That's better than trust."
She pushed the door open.
Warm air hit them first. Smoke, cheap liquor, fried oil, and something metallic underneath, like coins warmed by skin.
The room was dim. People sat in booths that were too far apart to be accidental. A couple played cards without speaking. A man slept with his hand inside his jacket, and nobody laughed at him.
Behind the counter, the bartender wiped a glass that was already clean.
He looked up and his eyes slid over Kairo like measuring tape.
Not judging clothes.
Judging threat.
Selene didn't walk to the bar right away.
She went to a table near the wall, the one with a cracked mirror behind it, and sat with her back to the room.
Kairo sat across from her, facing outward.
Selene's lips twitched slightly. Approval.
"You learn fast," she murmured.
Kairo kept his eyes moving. "Who is he."
"The broker," Selene said. "He sells tools. Work. Problems. Sometimes solutions."
Kairo frowned. "In a bar."
Selene looked at him like he'd asked why the sky was up. "Where else would it hide."
The bartender kept wiping his glass.
Minutes passed.
Then he finally spoke, voice flat. "No minors after nine."
Selene didn't react. "We're not minors."
The bartender's eyes stayed on Kairo. "Then why do you look like you ran from your own funeral."
Kairo's jaw tightened.
Selene leaned forward slightly. "We need work."
The bartender didn't smile. "Everyone needs work."
Selene reached into her pocket and placed something on the table.
A coin.
Not a normal coin.
Kairo felt it before he saw it. A faint pressure in the air, like cold breath.
Veil.
The bartender's eyes flicked to it, then to Selene.
"Who taught you to carry that," he asked.
Selene's voice went thin. "Someone who's dead."
The bartender stared for a second, then looked away like he'd seen that answer too many times.
"Bring him," he said.
Selene stood. Kairo followed.
At the bar, the bartender leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough that it wouldn't travel.
"What's his mark," he asked.
Kairo blinked. "Mark?"
Selene answered for him. "He's new. Awakened last night."
The bartender's fingers paused on the glass.
For the first time, something like interest showed on his face.
"Awakened," he repeated. "In the open."
Kairo didn't like the way the man's eyes sharpened. Like a buyer looking at fresh stock.
Selene's voice hardened. "He's not for sale."
The bartender's gaze slid to her. "Everything's for sale. The difference is who gets paid."
Kairo felt the static under his skin twitch, like a reflex to step into the path.
But there was no path here.
Not yet.
Just people.
Rules.
Predators with manners.
The bartender sighed and set the glass down.
"Name," he said, looking at Kairo.
Kairo hesitated.
Names mattered in hidden worlds.
He said it anyway. "Kairo."
"And you," the bartender said to Selene.
Selene's jaw tightened. "Selene."
The bartender nodded once, like logging it.
"My customers call me Marrow," he said.
Kairo's eyes narrowed. That wasn't a name. That was a role.
Marrow tapped the counter twice, and a panel behind the bar slid open just enough to reveal a narrow corridor.
Not a secret door for drama.
A functional one.
A place where the real business happened.
"Back room," Marrow said. "Shoes clean. Hands visible. If you touch something without asking, you lose fingers."
Selene didn't flinch. "Understood."
Kairo followed them through the corridor and into a small room lit by a single hanging lamp.
There were shelves. Cases. Cloth-wrapped bundles.
Not guns.
Not swords.
Tools.
Knives with strange grooves.
Needles inside sealed tubes.
Rope that looked normal until it didn't.
Small glass vials in foam slots.
Everything here felt like it had rules.
Marrow leaned against the shelf and looked at Kairo.
"Show me," he said.
Kairo's throat tightened. "Show you what."
Marrow's eyes were bored again. "Your Veil."
Kairo swallowed. He didn't know how.
Selene's voice was low. "Northbind."
Kairo looked at her.
She nodded once. "Just a spark."
Kairo exhaled and whispered, barely audible.
"North."
The cold static stirred.
It didn't flare like last night. No star above. No panic to force it.
But the air tightened slightly, like a compass needle trying to find its north through concrete.
Marrow's eyes changed.
Not amazed.
Calculating.
"Guide-type," he muttered. "Cute."
Selene bristled. "Useful."
Marrow waved a hand. "Useful if you live long enough."
He reached under the counter and pulled out a small strip of dark cloth with a faint stitched pattern.
He held it up between two fingers.
"Wrought-grade," he said. "Veil-damp wrap. Keeps your presence from leaking too loud. Won't save you from real hunters, but it'll stop you from shining like a lantern."
Kairo stared at it.
The cloth looked ordinary.
But his skin recognized it. Like it exhaled quiet.
"How much," Selene asked.
Marrow's eyes slid to Kairo. "Payment isn't always money."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "Then what."
Marrow leaned in, voice low and casual, like asking the time.
"You want to survive," he said, "you work. I give you a job. You do it clean. I give you tools. You do it messy, I sell your name."
Selene's hand twitched toward her pocket.
Kairo shook his head slightly at her. Don't.
Then he looked at Marrow.
"What job," Kairo asked.
Marrow's mouth curved faintly.
"A delivery," he said. "Simple. No heroics."
He opened a drawer and slid out a sealed envelope.
Kairo's stomach turned.
He stared at it, remembering his own unread letter.
Marrow watched his face and chuckled softly.
"Yeah," he said. "The Veil loves letters."
Kairo didn't smile.
He reached out and took the envelope.
The moment his fingers touched it, the static under his skin tightened into a thin, quiet line.
Not forward.
Not away.
Just… dangerous.
Selene's voice dropped. "Kairo."
He met her eyes.
Then he looked back at Marrow.
"Fine," Kairo said. "But I want one thing."
Marrow raised an eyebrow. "You're bargaining already."
Kairo's voice stayed calm. "I want a rule."
Marrow laughed once, genuine amusement.
"A rule," he repeated. "You're going to do well here."
Kairo held his gaze. "No selling her."
Silence.
Marrow's eyes slid to Selene, then back to Kairo.
Then he nodded once.
"Fine," he said. "No selling her. Not by me."
Not by me.
Kairo felt the trap in the phrasing immediately.
But he took it.
Because in the Veil world, you didn't get perfect deals.
You got footholds.
Marrow slid the Veil-damp wrap across the counter. "Welcome to the undercity, Pathmaker."
Kairo froze. "Don't call me that."
Marrow's smile sharpened. "Too late."
And in that dim back room, surrounded by ranked tools and quiet threats, Kairo understood something cleanly.
He didn't step into the Veil world when he whispered North.
He stepped into it the moment someone named his use.
Useful.
Which meant hunted.
Astral Pathmaker.