But Raaze didn’t.
He moved like someone who’d learned to shop cheap long before he’d learned to shop expensive, and that caught her off guard more than it should have.
The vendor, a Heltarri with scales that shimmered between green and gold, took one look at the little pile and named an outrageous price.
Raaze shook his head. “Half that.”
“Seventy percent.”
“Sixty, and I don’t mention that the stitching on your ‘genuine kretaavic leather’ boots is clearly done by machine.”
The vendor’s scales rippled, either in annoyance or amusement; she couldn’t tell. “Done.”
He paid with credits she’d fronted him because he had literally nothing and moved on to the next stall.
The male following you has lost interest, Fred reported. He’s now tracking a couple on your left with visible jewelry. Amateurs.
“You look familiar,” the vendor said, frowning at Raaze, and her heart almost stopped.
Raaze just smiled, all easy charm with nothing behind it. “I get that a lot. Just got one of those faces, I guess.”
They moved on before the vendor could push it.
“That surprised me,” she murmured. “You got a good price for those.”
He glanced over, one eyebrow winged up. “Wasn’t always rolling in sponsor credits. Spent my first season eating protein paste and sleeping in hostels that charged by the hour. No spare credits, so I had to make things last. Learned to check seams a long time before I learned to check labels.”
He steered her toward a stall selling ration packs and basic supplies. She waited as he haggled with the vendor for supplies, trying to ignore the way he filled out the new leather jacket.
Heads up, Fred murmured. Four men in the far corner, leaning against a closed bay door, are running a sequential gaze pattern. You and Raaze. Then the door. Then you. I do not believe they are not in the market for noodles.
She didn’t look. “Armed?”
Two definitely. More than likely.
Shifting her weight, she let her jacket fall open enough to show the pistol grip and made eye contact with all four in sequence when Fred highlighted them in her lens. There was something to be said for keeping your eyes to yourself, but there was also an argument for looking the bastards in the eye and saying, bring it on.
Raaze handed her one of the bags without comment. Their fingers brushed, and tingles washed over her skin. She tucked the protein bars into her bag and followed Raaze deeper into the market until he stopped at a display of secondhand data-pads.
“The price point on that one’s ridiculous,” she said, nodding toward a sleek model he’d picked up. “The processor’s two generations old, and the screen resolution is crap.”
He set it down without argument. “This one?”
Cheaper. Uglier. Probably more reliable.
“Better.”
He bought it.
They moved through three more stalls and picked up basic toiletries, a compact medical kit, and a multi-tool that Raaze tested before nodding approval. Everything he picked was efficient and practical.
“Do we have everything yet?” she asked finally, as they paused near a food vendor selling something that smelled like grilled meat and onions. At least she hoped they were onions…
Incoming data packet, Fred interrupted. Background processing complete on the Parac’Norr supply logistics.
She blinked in surprise. Have you been running that since we left?
I run many processes simultaneously. It’s one of my more charming qualities. The results are… irregular.
