But every lead turned into a dead end.
Hours slipped by with no sign of the Eye—and no telling how much longer the potion would hold.
Frustration tightened Alaric’s jaw each time a merchant shook their head or tried to sell him something else entirely. The deeper we ventured, the heavier the air grew—thick with unseen eyes tracking our every step.
Voices drifted through the press of bodies—low, careless, meant for no one and everyone.
“…heard the bounty’s doubled,” someone muttered as we passed.
“Enough to buy a whole fleet of ships.” another voice replied, awe curling through the words.
My stomach twisted. I kept my eyes forward, willing my pulse to steady, my face to remain blank beneath the cloth.
My mark throbbed like it disagreed with my silence—as if fear fed it. The more I tried to disappear, the more my body refused.
Alaric’s hand tightened on my wrist—not enough to hurt. Just enough to anchor.
To warn me not to react.
One stall held a collection of cursed trinkets—coins that ensured misfortune, rings that bound the wearer to unseen forces, mirrors that never reflected truth.
The vendor was a wiry man with a hunched back and skin like worn leather stretched too tight over protruding bones. His wild hair framed a face carved with malice, eyes too knowing. He reeked of stale smoke.
Yellowed teeth showed through a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he leaned forward like a vulture scenting death. Fingers long and crooked as driftwood tapped an erratic rhythm atop parchment stained with ink and God-knows-what.
Every inch of him radiated deception. And delight in cruelty. A man who would trade souls for the right price. And enjoy it.
He offered Alaric an obsidian dagger laced with bone. “Forged in the breath of the Void,” he rasped.
The blade pulsed faintly in his hands. Alaric stared at it for a beat too long, then turned away.
The seller laughed in his throat. “Not your taste?” he rasped. “Perhaps something moreintimate, then.”
He gestured behind him—toward a narrow building with red lanterns strung over the door, smoke curling from the windows like ghost fingers.
“A night with a mermaid, fresh from the deep. Or perhaps you fancy faeries? Werewolf? We have all sorts.”
My stomach turned. I followed his gesture and caught sight of the carved entrance—intricate and cruel. Behind the red-lit windows, shadows moved. Laughter muffled and wrong. Sobbing.
The vendor licked his lips, eyes glinting. “I’ll watch your companion while you go in.” He took his time looking me over.
My mark flared beneath the fabric—searing, pulsing. I felt it rise in me then: ocean and stars and storm I didn’t yet understand. Magic surged toward my fingertips.
Mermaids. Fae. Werewolves. All manner of supernatural beings forced into servitude—powdered skin, spell-laced perfume, suffering dressed up as seduction.
I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that this place existed…
Or that there was a line wrapped around the building. Humans, mostly.
Just standing there like they were waiting for bread, not bodies. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, mouths curved in eager, grotesque smirks.
Alaric stepped forward in a blur, fast enough that the vendor flinched.
In one smooth, dangerous motion, he seized the dagger the man had been peddling and pressed it to his throat.
“Look at mycompanionlike that again,” he growled, voice low and lethal, "and I’ll decorate this street with your guts."
The vendor’s grin faltered. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the gleam in his eyes remained.
