“And let someone else walk off with your favourite fungi?”I set the satchel down on the stained worktop.“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Heard there was a sweep near the canal yesterday.Patrols sniffin’ about.”
I meet his gaze.“I’m careful.”
“Mmh.”He opens the satchel, shifting something aside.His thick fingers are gentler than I expect.The caps twitch faintly as he touches them.“Careful doesn’t keep you from getting caught.Clever does.”
I stay silent.But my shadows begin to stir.
His hand brushes my sketchbook, flicking the edges.A muscle jumps beneath my eye, ticking restlessly like a clock.
“What’s this then?”
I shrug dismissively.“Nothing.”
He watches for a beat too long.I keep my face blank, my breath even.
“Mmh.Sure.”His mouth twitches at the corner, showing a flash of stained teeth.He’s waiting for me to rise to the bait—something I won’t give him the satisfaction of doing.
He snorts and drops the pouch on the counter, landing with a soft clink.“Not the same price as last time,” he says, scratching the stubble coating his chin.“Prices are dropping.”
My jaw tightens.“Is that so?”
“Times are tight.What can I say?”A lazy shrug has a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.
Grinding my teeth I bite down a retort.Times are always tight.
I try to breathe away the tension coiling in my stomach, but it doesn’t work.The shadows don’t wait for permission; they unfurl, smoke curling around my legs.
Not now.Please.
They recoil instantly, folding back into place.
Saul freezes, his milky gaze shifting like a compass needle that’s lost north.
“It’s alrigh’,” he stutters, grabbing something from under the counter.“Here—take anotha bag.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.I swipe the bags of coin, pocketing them in my satchel.“Looks like times aren’t so tight after all.”
I don’t wait for a reply before turning on my heel and heading out through the opening.
Outside, the cool air hits my lungs hard.I gulp it down, scrubbing Saul’s stink from my chest.
My hands shake as I walk, as they always seem to do afterward.
I’ve never used my shadows to bargain before, and I don’t want to make it a recurring thing.Different doesn’t last long down here.
And I won’t survive being noticed again.
* * *
The market swallows me whole—raisedvoices, pots clanging, sellers barking offers.Despite the press of bodies, I feel alone.Ghostlike.Slipping between people who don’t see me.
This is how life is; a quiet, watchful solitude.Not how I’d choose it—but how the shadows prefer it.If I had my way, I’d be normal, just another pale face in the crowd.
Steam rises from food stalls as I pass, the scent of roasted root clinging to my coat.Home, for a heartbeat.My stomach growls, sharp and insistent, but I ignore it.Sylas comes first.Always.
I keep my head low as I approach the stall that smells most like home.Rootcakes line the counter in careful rows—beet, barley, spiced mash—plump little soldiers waiting to be chosen.
