Kaelen adjusted the dagger against his side, the weight still unfamiliar. The leather sheath rubbed stiff against his coat with each step. Not heavy, just new. A reminder of what he'd spent, and how little he had left.
Eighteen crowns gone tonight. Two crowns left. That was it.
He threaded back through the narrow stalls, keeping his shoulders tight to avoid the press of hawkers. Ore-smoke stung the back of his throat, and voices folded over each other in the cramped galleries, bargains shouted, Sparks flaunted like trinkets, threats tucked quiet between handshakes.
This place isn't built for my pockets. Not yet.
The dagger was plain steel, but the tether-lines traced through its core hummed against his Spark like a half-heard note. If he drew on it, he could feel how the link would catch, how it might anchor a pull, how it might drag him sideways instead of freefalling into a wall. But that was theory. He'd have to test it, train with it, build the muscle until it moved as naturally as his breath. Right now, it was just a blade, and he was just a courier with more debt than coin.
He forced his stride steady. I'll need to train in the alleys, away from eyes. Every pull will burn charge, and I can't waste stock. But if I can learn to weave it with SkyStep, maybe I can make it sing. Tether to an anchor. Cut the distance. Outrun anyone watching.
The thought circled back to the same weight in his chest: someone was watching. Greyhand's warning had rung too true to ignore. Maybe it was the Cord. Maybe the Guild, laundered through another name. Either way, questions were closing on him. He had days at best before suspicion hardened into something sharper.
That meant preparation. A Spark wasn't enough. Neither was steel. He needed both, working together, before whoever was listening decided to move.
He touched the dagger hilt again, forcing the tension out of his jaw. First trial's not far. And if I can't master what little I've got before then..
The thought never finished.
A crack tore through the din ahead, sharp, like glass underfoot, but louder, rising into a shriek.
Light flared.
Not the slow burn of ore-lamps or the dull shimmer of runes, this was jagged, alive, spilling across the gallery in violent flashes. Heat rolled off the stone ribs, and for a heartbeat the whole quarter stank of charred resin.
Kaelen squinted through the press of bodies. A stall ahead was wreathed in fire, tongues of red lashing from a Spark vial that had ruptured. Flames crawled up the hanging cloth banners, chewing through them like paper.
The crowd surged back, but not fast enough. A man staggered out of the stall clutching his arm, or what was left of it. Flesh seared black, skin crackling where the Spark had eaten through him. He screamed once before collapsing, and the noise of the Market swallowed it whole.
"Back! Back!" voices shouted. Someone shoved past Kaelen, nearly spinning him into a pillar. The air pressed thick with panic.
Then another sound cut through, low, commanding.
"Still!"
The fire halted mid-leap, frozen in place like molten glass. Each flame hung on its edge, curling but unmoving, heat snapping into stillness. Kaelen's gaze found the source, a man in a grey coat, scales stitched into the cuffs. One of the Scales' Eminents.
His hand hovered open, palm toward the blaze. The air around his fingers shimmered with faint sigils, binding runes, elemental control. With a sharp twist of his wrist, the flames collapsed in on themselves, drawn into a single ember that burned briefly before dying. Smoke trailed up, thin and sour.
The gallery hushed in his wake. The stall smouldered, wreckage still glowing faintly, but the fire was gone. The Eminent's eyes swept the crowd, sharp and hard as tongs at a forge.
"Rule One," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. "No open Sparks."
The silence deepened. Even the hawkers held their breath.
Two more Scales moved in, stripping the ruined stall with quick, efficient hands. They dragged the injured man aside, bound the stump in a rough strip of cloth to staunch the spray, and vanished him into a side-passage before the blood had cooled.
Kaelen caught the man's eyes as they hauled him past. There was fear there, raw and wild, but not for his ruined hand. It was from the Scales. As if he'd forgotten the pain entirely, and remembered only who had hold of him.
Another pair swept the ashes, scooping charred remains into iron bins. Within minutes, the stall was nothing more than a blackened frame.
The crowd thinned, the hum of trade returning in nervous trickles. The Eminent gave the burnt space one last measuring glance, then lowered his hand. Sparks still lingered faintly in his palm, red veins of heat knitting themselves shut before they could escape. He turned away, vanishing into the Scales' quiet lanes as if nothing had happened.
Kaelen drew a slow breath, steadying the thrum under his ribs. He forced his shoulders loose, though every instinct told him to run. The lesson was plain enough. That could be me, if I pull wrong. Or if someone decides my name belongs on the slate. The Market tolerated trade. It didn't tolerate mistakes. Someone would pay the price. Always.
I guess the shadows aren't that much different from the Guild.
Kaelen slipped back into the night air with the Market's weight still on his shoulders. The city above smelled different after the ore-smoke below, rain-damp stone, fish rot drifting from the docks, the faint tang of ward-oil burned down to a gutter.
Brassrest's streets never slept, but this part of Central leaned quiet at this hour. Lamplight clung low to the cobbles, throwing long, thin shadows. A drunk slouched in an alley. A pair of dockhands argued over dice near a stairwell. Normal noise.
Too normal.
He tightened his stride, the dagger's sheath brushing his side. Each turn he took, the silence stretched thin. He couldn't name it, but the prickle at his spine wouldn't leave. Steps behind him, almost masked by the city's breath.
Don't look. Keep walking.
Kaelen kept walking, shoulders tight, forcing his stride steady. The market's smoke was gone, but the weight of it clung under his skin. He took a longer turn toward East Docks, slipping past the wardlines that marked the district edge.
The city shifted as he walked. Broad galleries gave way to narrower lanes, buildings leaning over the street like crooked teeth. Smells changed, old fish, tar, brine. The low thunder of water against piers. Familiar. Almost home.
But the prickle at his spine hadn't left.
Steps behind him, not close, not far. Always the same distance. He tested it with a turn down a crooked lane. The sound followed. Twenty minutes from the Market, twenty from his bed, and still he wasn't alone.
That was when he broke into a sprint,
He cut through a side lane, past shuttered shops, past the crooked stairwell that led to his block. The steps quickened behind him.
SkyStep burned under his ribs, the faint tug itching against his chest as he vaulted the lane's end. He twisted down another, boots striking cobble sharp, then slid into the shadow of a jutting wall, listening.
Breath. Steps. Close.
He moved again, ducking across the street and up a narrow stair. He risked a glance back, shadows shifting, a figure following.
His pulse spiked. He threw himself around the corner, knife half-drawn, every muscle tight,
"Veris!"
The voice hit him like cold water.
A boy's grin flashed in the lamplight, breathless, hands raised quick. Not a Cord thug. Not a Quiet. Just an Initiate, hair sweat-dark, satchel slung half-open at his side, Corren Talvek.
Kaelen had known him for a while now, back when they'd both scraped through low-level runs. Since Corren had made Initiate, he'd taken it as a habit to needle Kaelen, teasing him, trying to drag him into escort jobs that needed extra numbers. Annoying, sometimes. But not a bad one. Friendly, even.
"Been chasing you since morning, even staked out your place," Corren panted, chest heaving. "What, you trying to run me dead?"
Kaelen forced the dagger back into its sheath, jaw still tight. "You picked a piss-poor time to sneak up on me."
"Didn't know you'd run like the Guild was on your heels. Listen, I've got something. A job you'll want in on. Been holding a spot since midday, looking for you."
Kaelen's brow tightened. "And?"
The Initiate leaned closer, grin fading just enough to show he was serious. "Are you interested in advancing?"