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Adrian catches him by the shoulder the second he reaches him, swaying enough that Damaris instinctively steadies him.

"You all right?"

Adrian shrugs. "Yeah. Just came from a party. Didn't you say you were going to the market?"

"We got lost," I say before Damaris can answer, tugging on his coat and starting to turn away. The last thing I want is to spend another minute standing outside Black Chapel.

Damaris doesn't budge, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm trying to get us moving. "Temporarily. But hey, I think I've found it again."

"After taking us on a scenic tour of the city."

Adrian huffs a laugh and glances my way. "Rowan, right?"

"I am."

"Thought so. Dama talks about you a lot."

Something small and irrational twists in my chest. Dama. That's my nickname for him.

Damaris perks up. "The market. The good coffee's going to be gone."

Adrian glances down the street. "I'll walk you."

"Don't you need to go sleep?"

"Probably. But half the food stalls down there are terrible." He runs a hand through his hair and jerks his chin farther down the road. "Come on, if you don't mind the company."

"Aren't you a gentleman." Damaris hooks an arm around my shoulders, hauling me down the street before I can object.

The market sprawls across half the district, packed with people, food stalls, and enough noise to make my head spin. Within seconds, Damaris is distracted by coffee, leaving me trailing behind him.

A familiar presence falls into step beside me. "I heard you've gotten friendly with the Virels."

"Excuse me?" I turn to find Adrian watching me with a look I can't quite read.

"The party." He shrugs. "People talk, you know? Especially when a talented Noctis player ends up giving a private concert to the academy's most feared mobster."

"I didn't…" My voice falters. I'm not sure what to say. Heat crawls up my neck, sending my attention toward Damaris, who's currently trying to convince a vendor to lower the price of something he absolutely doesn't need.

"Just be careful."

Something in his voice makes me look back, only to catch his gaze resting on Damaris before it drifts toward the crowds.

"Why do you say that?"

"The Virels. The Orlovs. All of them." A humorless smile touches his mouth. "People like that have a way of getting what they want."

For a second he looks older than he does on campus. Then the expression disappears.

Ahead of us, Damaris waves a bag triumphantly in the air. "Coffee!"

A little later, Adrian takes us to a narrow place tucked between two older buildings, barely more than a counter and a handful of tables. The food is cheap, hot, and better than anything we've eaten on campus all week. Damaris spends most of the meal talking about the market, the coffee, and the ingredients he's convinced are going to change our lives while I pick at my food and listen.

By the time we step back outside, the golden light has softened, the market beginning to thin out as vendors pack away crates and stack empty boxes. The bags at our feet are heavier than they were an hour ago, and the drag of the day finally catches up with me.

Adrian leaves us at the edge of the upper road with a lazy salute. "Remember what I said," he calls to me. "Just be careful."

Damaris falls into step beside me as we start toward the road leading back to campus. "What's that supposed to mean?"