Radeon hopped from roof to roof across Spendworth Hills, moving the way a pest moved. Quiet. Small. Unimportant.
Each auction house had its own scent, lacquered wood, incense, sweat trapped under fine clothes.
None of them were as extravagant as Honored Lynx, yet the same rot sat beneath the polish.
Cages hid under the boards and behind the walls, stacked as high as the seventh floor.
Radeon counted without pausing long enough to be seen. Twelve thousand slaves across the hills.
Most were fed well, washed well, kept in conditions that could pass for care if you squinted.
Even so, who would put their life in another man's hand and call it safety?
No one wanted to be a slave. Not truly.
Radeon also considered the red light district next. The thought came with a brief tug of curiosity, then he let it go.
He remembered too well how those women were woven into politics and secrets, how their trade was not always the cruelty outsiders painted.
