A ripple passed through the alley Leo and Malachi had ducked into, quiet as a breath, and then the noise of the city faded like someone turning the volume down on reality. The air sharpened crisp, not cold and suddenly the buildings changed. Stone warped into moss-covered wood, lamps hung from nothing, and the smell of ozone and old parchment crept in.
The made their way into Drift a place where outcast an foreign traders often dwell, the place had one rule even if the realms are divided once you are inside the drift you don't have don't have an identity you either know by your tag or a new name you picked on spot. And no causing of trouble or you are tossed out by the collectors a bunch of being who runs the place.
Leo leaned against the doorframe of the Gloam Inn, rain-damp curls sticking to his forehead, one boot crossed over the other. He flashed a lazy grin at the barkeeper a wiry face with bark for skin and eyes like polished ink.
"Miss me, Maria?" Leo asked, his voice smooth and low.
The woman at the other end blinked slowly and slid him a drink without a word. They all knew him here. He was a great flirt, a fighter, and a pain in the ass, he wore it like perfume.
Behind him, Malachi stepped in with a long, slow breath, shaking water from his sleeves before removing his cloak so it could be dried by a boy who hands were already doing his magic. He nodded at Malachi collecting the coin Malachi tossed to him with a grin.
Leo glanced sideways at him, smirking.
"You always walk in like you own the place," he said.
"I don't," Malachi replied, his voice smooth and low, deep with a slight rasp at the edges. "the same can't be said for you"he said taking his seat beside Leo who had already made himself comfortable
Leo laughed, then sipped his drink something sweet and spiced that made his lips sting. He turned, elbow resting on the bar, and let his eyes roam the lounge.
The bar door creaked open with a tired groan, letting in a sliver of night soaked in rain. A woman stepped through the threshold her boots heavy with water, the hem of her cloak dripping steadily onto the floorboards. The hood of her cloak was drawn low, casting half her face in shadow, but what little was visible was pale, sharp, and tense.
She paused just inside, unmoving as the door thudded shut behind her. Her gaze swept across the dim bar cutting through the humid haze of body heat, cheap liquor, and old wood. The chatter didn't stop, but it dulled, softened like it knew danger had entered the room. She didn't flinch. Just kept scanning, until her eyes landed on the bar counter.
Maria stood behind it, drying a glass with the same cloth she always used frayed, tired, and red with wine stains that had stopped being wine long ago. The woman approached slowly, footsteps deliberate, the tap of her boots echoing like a metronome in a room that suddenly forgot how to breathe.
"Excuse me…" The woman's voice was low, clipped, but it carried. A voice that had seen too many late nights and too few safe mornings. "I'm looking for the broker."
Maria's hands froze mid-wipe. Her spine stiffened like someone had just poured cold iron down her back. She didn't speak at first. Just placed the glass on the counter and folded the rag. Her mouth twitched, uncertain whether to play dumb or deny outright.
Across the room, Malachi glanced up from his drink. His fingers were still curled loosely around the glass, but his eyes had gone sharp. He didn't say anything, just leaned a little back in his chair .
Maria forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The Broker?" she repeated, her voice too even. "I'm sorry, miss, but… is there something you want with them?" Her tone was polite, and practiced.
After all, information wasn't always passed easily in the Drift it was power. Pure and simple.
She stopped just short of it, her voice firm but smooth, the kind that tried to sound casual but carried weight beneath.
"Just business," she said, placing a heavy cloth pouch on the counter with a soft thud. "So if you'd be so kind as to lead me to them."
Leo, lounging on the barstool beside Malachi, glanced sideways. The pouch clinked slightly. Money, no doubt.
Maria didn't flinch. She didn't even glance at the bag. Her dark eyes stayed locked on the woman's face, unreadable, her jaw subtly tensing.
"You're new here," she said, her tone calm, but with the sharpness of a quiet warning. "I can see that clear as daylight. But let me give you a little advice for your own good."
She leaned slightly forward, her voice dropping just enough that only those close could hear.
"If you're lookin' for the Brokers, you don't find them. They find you. That's how it's always been. That's how it stays."
The woman blinked, then straightened slowly, lips tightening. The chill of rejection was sharper than the cold wind outside. She clearly wasn't used to being turned away.
A muscle worked in her jaw. She nodded once which was curt and cold.
"Well," she said, her voice tightening, losing the charm it held earlier. "I don't have time to play games."
She turned, but paused a beat before stepping away. Her voice floated back, less of a request now and more of a statement etched in iron.
"If you do know where they are… tell them I'll be waiting." A brief glance over her shoulder. Her eyes were steel. "Back alley. Before dawn."
She didn't wait for an answer. Her cloak flared slightly as she pushed through the bar doors and vanished into the night.
Leo let out a low whistle.
"Well damn," he muttered, swirling the drink in his glass. "Either she's brave, stupid… or both."
Malachi sipped his own, barely glancing up. "Mostly both," he murmured, voice like smoke, cool and unimpressed. "She won't last till dawn.
___
Jasmine grit her teeth following closely behind Draven as he had introduced himself. He was so hellbent on not taking her along.
Her grandmother had passed away and she had no one to return to While Andriana on the other hand had her father she needed to return to.
It was hard to say goodbye but that was the right thing to do, she couldn't possibly push Andriana into a world that was different from what she came to know.
Jasmine knew something was wrong with her, waking up days ago made her feel her entire existence was wrong, she couldn't shake off the feeling of missing something, like she was supposed to be doing something but she couldn't place a hands on it.
They stumbled out the other side of the portal, and Jasmine swore she was going to puke her guts out.
The world tilted spinning, stretching, then snapping back too fast. Her vision blurred, her stomach churned violently, and for a second, she thought her knees might just give way beneath her.
"Welcome to the Drift," Draven announced, his voice dipped in mockery, like he was thoroughly enjoying her misery.
Jasmine shot him a look that could curdle milk. A snort escaped her as she forced her legs to move, catching up to his long stride. At least the tunic and pants she'd changed into made it easier to walk in, her old dress would've had her tripping over her own feet by now.
She hated to admit it, but the clothes helped her feel less out of place.
Not that anything about this world felt right.
Unlike humans, who wore their distrust plainly cold stares, guarded words the creatures here were subtle, clever. They didn't hide behind suspicion they played with it. Cunning bastards, she thought bitterly. They are the kind that watched you drown with a smile, just to see how long it took.
They stepped into what looked like a marketplace, though the word hardly did it justice. Stalls lined both sides of the narrow street, each packed with strange and shimmering objects glowing stones.
Jasmine's eyes darted from one table to the next. Everything here looked rare, dangerous, or cursed and sometimes all three.
The sky above was an eerie shade of twilight, though there was no moon and stars, just an endless dark canvas stretching overhead. The only light came from floating lanterns that bobbed lazily over each stall, casting odd, flickering shadows that danced along the cobblestone ground.
Not that you needed them to see. The darkness wasn't blinding just unnatural, like it pressed against your skin instead of your eyes.
Still, the lanterns made it worse, it wasn't so comforting at all.
"Sooo… why are we here again?" Jasmine asked, her voice light but tinged with suspicion as she walked in stride with Draven. She had to angle her head slightly to look up at him, her eyes squinting beneath the sharp sting of wind that carried the scent of damp stone and rusted iron.
Draven didn't answer immediately. His cloak hood cast a shadow over most of his face, making him unreadable as ever. He gave her a brief glance very impassive, but then he kept moving, his boots silent against the uneven pavement. Jasmine huffed quietly but followed without more questions, though her gut already churned with the kind of unease that didn't come from walking.
They came to a stop in front of what Jasmine assumed was a store, though it looked like something torn out of a nightmare. The sign overhead was either long-faded or never meant to be read. The wooden exterior sagged under the weight of time, metal braces rusted to a dirty orange.
Draven pushed the door open with a gloved hand. A dull bell jingled above them off-key and broken, the door creaked in a slow uncomfortable protest.
As soon as Jasmine stepped inside, she recoiled slightly.
The air was thick, too thick like inhaling dust and static and something far older than mold. Her skin prickled instantly, a thousand invisible needles dancing along her arms. The place felt wrong in a way she couldn't put to words.
The room was cloaked in half-darkness, only broken by the soft, ominous glow coming from several towering glass tubes arranged in a loose circle near the center. The space smelled of old copper, decay, and cold and untouched water like someone had bottled a storm and let it rot.
Jasmine's boots slowed to a halt on the creaking floorboards, her breath catching as her eyes adjusted.
That's when she saw them.
People or things that were once people, floated in those tubes. No, not floated... hung. Their bodies were eerily still, completely transparent, outlines shimmering faintly like pale spirits submerged in red, viscous liquid. Not blood. Something thicker, something that clung to the glass like it was alive. The figures inside weren't solid they flickered faintly, ghostlike, trapped in some twisted limbo.
Her stomach lurched hard, the bile rising so fast she had to slap a hand over her mouth.
"W-What the hell is this place?" she choked out, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Her fingers gripped the edge of her jacket, knuckles white.
Draven had already stepped further in, calm as ever. He didn't even flinch at the sight of the glass prisons, rather he inspected them.
"This," he said flatly, his voice echoing slightly against the metal and wood, "is where people pay in pieces of their soul."
Jasmine's eyes widened, throat dry. Her gaze darted from one tube to the next each ghost trapped like a specimen, each expression frozen in a silent scream or vacant stare.
She wanted to run. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to turn, to bolt, to get out before something in this place noticed her. But her feet didn't move.
"Draven…" she rasped, her voice shaking now. "Tell me we're not trading here."
His silence was answer enough. And it chilled her more than the cold,
Instinct took over before her thought did Jasmine slung herself closer to Draven, her hand gripping the edge of his cloak like a lifeline. He didn't react, didn't even glance at her. Just stood there, but she could see a faint smile on his lips and she almost cursed him with it. All for thinking she was safe with him, the first thing he did was walking into danger himself.
She swallowed hard, eyes darting across the room. There were too many of them those ghost-like forms drifting in the crimson liquid. No matter how fast she counted, more tubes loomed from the shadows, She lost count before she reached ten.
Then—
"Seems this week is a good one for me. I have more customers than usual."
The voice came from behind, smooth and compelling but laced with something cold and ancient, like honey stirred into ice water.
Jasmine nearly jumped out of her skin. Her body snapped rigid, breath caught in her throat. She spun around so fast her hair whipped over her shoulder.
And there he was.
Standing in the archway between two of the glass columns was a man so blindingly beautiful, for a split second Jasmine thought he might've stepped in from somewhere else entirely, probably he missed his way and ended up here or rather he was also here for some exchange. His skin had a porcelain glow, his features unnaturally symmetrical, his eyes gleaming like twin drops of mercury. A smile curved his lips, soft and perfect, though somehow… it didn't reach his eyes.
He looked so out of place it made her stomach twist tighter. But the truth was always bitter, he was the owner. The man behind the tubes.
Jasmine felt the cold sweat gathering at the back of her neck. Suddenly, the whole saying "looks can be deceiving" didn't seem like a casual warning, it felt like a curse someone had forgotten to break.
"Welcome to my humble abode," the man said, voice warm and inviting, as he dipped into a graceful bow. His smile widened with perfect, gleaming teeth. it was too perfect she was almost convinced it wasn't natural, but who was she deceiving.
Jasmine didn't smile back. Her fingers twitched at her side, itching to grab Draven and bolt, but her pride wouldn't let her flinch too obviously.
'More like unhumble abode,' she bit the comment back hard, locking it in her throat. This wasn't the time for sarcasm. Not when a porcelain devil ran the house.
"To what do I owe this pleasant visit?" he asked, his voice rich as he stepped away from the shadows. His boots made little sound against the floor, yet his presence felt loud, almost commanding. He came to stand directly in front of her, eyes gleaming with an amused smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, like he already knew the answer and was simply toying with her.