The word **BROKER** does not behave like other words.
It doesn't float politely above a shadow.
It doesn't glow or pulse or hover at a respectful distance.
It leans.
It angles itself forward, as if peering at me from behind the shelves, curious, amused, already calculating. The shadow beneath it stretches unnaturally long, sliding between stacked boxes and metal racks like the supermarket is nothing more than scenery painted on cheap cardboard.
The auditor stiffens.
"This interaction is under audit," he says. "Brokerage interference violates—"
"—protocol," the shadow finishes for him pleasantly. "Yes, yes. Page seventy-three. Subsection C. I know it by heart."
The shadow steps fully into the aisle.
The man attached to it looks almost normal, and that's what makes him unsettling. No impossible geometry like the auditor. No pressure in the air. Just a man in a tailored coat far too expensive for a grocery store, hair neatly styled, expression warm and confident—like he's just run into an old colleague at a conference.
Ardan's grip tightens on my shoulder.
"Do not look at him," he mutters. "Brokers don't enforce. They *convince*."
The man's eyes flick instantly to Ardan.
"Oh, I enforce plenty," he says cheerfully. "Just never directly. That's inelegant."
His gaze slides back to me.
"And you," he adds, voice softening. "You are *expensive*."
The word sinks into me like a hook.
My stomach twists.
"I didn't ask to be," I say.
"No one valuable ever does," the broker replies. "That's how we know you're real."
The auditor steps forward, placing himself partially between us.
"This entity is under correction," he says flatly. "Remove yourself."
The broker sighs, genuinely disappointed.
"You auditors are always so literal. Correction, resolution, classification…" He waves a hand dismissively. "You see a problem. I see an opportunity."
The word above him flickers.
**BROKER**
**VALUING**
The air changes.
Not heavier—sharper. As if everything in the aisle suddenly has a price tag, even the dust.
I feel it crawl over me, invasive and intimate. My skin prickles. My head throbs.
This isn't power pressing down like the auditor's.
This is appraisal.
The silver thread between me and the girl hums painfully.
She gasps, clutching her chest.
"Stop looking at him like that," she snaps at the broker. "You're hurting him."
The broker's smile widens, but his eyes don't leave my shadow.
"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not hurting him. I'm *reading* him."
He tilts his head, studying the words stacked above my shadow as if they were entries in a ledger.
"Unclaimed. Rejected. Self-assigned. Tethered." His eyebrows lift. "And blank underneath."
He exhales slowly.
"That's rare."
"How rare?" I ask, my voice tight.
He chuckles.
"Once every few decades. Once every century, if the system is particularly unlucky."
The auditor cuts in sharply.
"This conversation is irrelevant."
"No," the broker replies lightly. "It's inevitable."
He steps closer. The auditor does not block him.
That alone tells me everything.
The broker stops an arm's length away.
"I won't force you," he says quietly. "That's not my business model."
"Then what do you want?" I ask.
"To make you an offer."
Ardan swears under his breath.
"Do not listen," he warns. "Nothing a broker offers is free."
"Of course not," the broker agrees. "Everything has a cost. The question is whether you're already paying one."
His eyes flick to the word **CLAIMING** still burning above my shadow.
"You invoked authority without infrastructure," he continues. "That hurts. It will keep hurting. Auditors will keep coming. Stronger ones."
The auditor does not deny it.
"I can make that stop," the broker says.
My heartbeat stutters.
"How?"
"I give you cover," he says. "A framework. A sponsor."
Ardan's voice snaps like a wire.
"No."
The broker chuckles.
"Relax, accountant. I'm not talking about ownership."
He looks at me again.
"I don't buy people," he says. "I place them."
The word above him shifts.
**BROKER**
**PLACEMENT**
"I can introduce you to entities who won't try to erase you," he continues. "Who'll recognize what you are and invest accordingly."
"Invest how?" I ask.
"With protection. Knowledge. Time." He pauses. "And distance from audits."
The silver thread burns hotter.
The girl grips my arm.
"What happens to us?" she asks. "To *him*?"
The broker finally looks at her properly.
His smile falters—just a fraction.
"Ah," he says. "The tether."
He studies the thread, eyes narrowing.
"That complicates pricing."
"I'm not a price," she snaps.
"No," he agrees calmly. "You're leverage."
Her face drains of color.
Something inside me snaps.
"Don't talk about her like that."
The broker raises his hands immediately.
"Fair," he says. "My apologies."
The word above him flickers:
**BROKER**
**APOLOGIZING**
Ardan stares.
"…Did he just adjust his own label?"
"Yes," the broker says cheerfully. "I'm very flexible."
He turns back to me.
"My offer is simple," he says. "Walk away from this audit with me. Let me introduce you properly."
"And if I don't?"
The broker glances at the auditor.
The auditor's shadow sharpens.
"Then he places you," the broker says. "Into a category that doesn't survive long."
The auditor adds:
"Non-resolution will result in forced assignment."
The pressure in my chest tightens.
"So either way," I say slowly, "someone decides what I am."
The broker smiles sympathetically.
"Welcome to the market."
The word **SELF-ASSIGNED** pulses violently above my shadow, like a heartbeat refusing to sync.
The broker notices.
"Interesting," he murmurs. "You're fighting even the concept of being traded."
"I'm not for sale," I say.
The broker meets my eyes.
"Everything is," he says gently. "The trick is choosing *who* you sell to."
The auditor steps forward.
"This delay is inefficient. State your Claim or be assigned."
The silver thread flares with pain.
Ardan grips my shoulder.
"Mark," he says quietly. "Whatever you choose… choose it yourself."
The broker extends his hand.
The auditor waits.
Two systems.
Two outcomes.
Neither is freedom.
But one of them…
One of them lets me walk.
I look at the broker's hand.
Then at the auditor's shadow.
Then at the girl.
And I understand the worst truth of all.
If I choose wrong—
I won't be the only one paying the price.