I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped into the bathroom.

The girls were sprawled across the beds, completely knocked out, chests rising and falling slow.

Sweat still stuck to their skin.

I didn't linger.

After a quick rinse and throwing on yesterday's shirt and pants, I slipped out of the inn.

Today actually mattered.

That monster didn't just crawl out of nowhere.

I needed to know where it came from.

More than that, we needed a ship.

A captain.

Or, better way to put it, someone who could guide us across the ocean to the Dark Continent.

The water between here and there wasn't a lake you could row over in an afternoon.

Outside, the morning air smelled like salt, fish, and coal smoke.

I started walking, no real direction, just letting the alleys pull me deeper into the city.

Narrow streets turned into narrower ones.

People shouted prices, carts rattled, someone was arguing over a broken crate of oranges.

Normal mess.

Then I saw her.

White hair tied back loose, same tanned shoulders, same easy walk.

The bikini shop owner from that Kobold village.

The one who measured us up, laughed at my embarrassed face, and sold the girls those scraps of cloth like it was nothing.

She was here.

Two kingdoms away.

In the biggest port city on this side of the ocean.

My brain stalled for a second.

How?

Why?

I swallowed the questions and started following.

Kept my distance, stayed behind clusters of people, matched her pace.

She didn't look around much.

Just walked like she knew exactly where she was going, even if her steps seemed a little hesitant.

After maybe ten minutes she turned into a wider street that felt wrong.

Red paint on the walls, red lanterns even though it was daytime, a big wooden sign hanging crooked: DEBT COLLECTION.

The letters were faded but still bold enough to make my stomach twist.

She didn't pause.

Just stepped under the archway.

I waited a few seconds, scanned the street.

nobody paying attention.

then followed.

Inside the area it got worse.

Long rows of low buildings.

Iron bars on windows.

People in nicer clothes strolling between them, peering into cells like they were shopping for fruit.

Chains clinked somewhere.

A woman cried quietly behind one wall.

This wasn't debt collection.

This was a slave market with extra paperwork.

I spotted the white hair again.

She was moving faster now, heading straight toward the middle building.

Bigger than the others.

Gold lines painted along the edges like someone thought that made it classy.

Sign above the door: EL PIETRO – DEBT COLLECTION.

She stopped in front, stared at the sign for a long second, then pushed the door open.

I checked left, right.

No one looking my way.

I slipped inside right after her.

The smell hit first.

sweat, metal, cheap incense.

Cells lined both walls.

Men and women inside, some sitting, some standing, all silent.

Buyers walked slow, pointing, talking prices in low voices.

I kept my head down and tracked her white hair through the crowd.

She went straight to the back.

A heavy door there.

MANAGEMENT ROOM carved into the wood.

A guard stood in front.

big guy, leather vest, short sword on his hip.

Scar across his left cheek.

She stopped in front of him.

He looked her up and down.

"What do you want?"

She squared her shoulders.

Voice came out steady but quieter than I expected.

"I'm here to pay off a debt."

The guard raised an eyebrow.

"Whose?"

"My granddaughter's."

He snorted, held out his hand.

"Belongings. Weapons, coins, jewelry. hand it over. No one goes in armed or loaded."

She pulled a small pouch from her belt, a thin knife from her boot, and a silver bracelet off her wrist.

Dropped everything into his palm.

He weighed the pouch, nodded once, then pushed the door open for her.

The second the gap appeared I moved.

I didn't think.

I just sprinted.

Air snapped around me.

One step, two, then nothing but a blur.

The sound barrier cracked loud enough I was sure someone would turn, but I was already through the doorway the same instant she was.

Door thudded shut behind us.

Big room.

Two long couches facing each other.

Low table between them.

Lamps burning oil that smelled too sweet.

Four people already inside.

I didn't have time to think.

Dove behind the left couch, dropped low, peeked over the edge.

My stomach sank.

Sitting on one couch: two men in dark coats, gold rings on every finger.

One had a thin mustache, the other kept cracking his knuckles.

Across from them, on the other couch, sat a woman.

maybe late forties, black hair pulled tight, red dress cut low.

She looked bored.

Next to her was a guy built like a barrel, arms crossed, staring at the door like he expected trouble.

And at the head of the table, leaning back in a tall chair, was the man I recognized instantly.

El Pietro himself.

Gray hair slicked back.

Gold earring in one ear.

Smile that didn't reach his eyes.

He was the one who ran half the undercity loans in this port.

Word was he never lost money.

People who owed him either paid or disappeared.

The white-haired woman stopped three steps inside the room.

She didn't bow, didn't fidget.

Just stood there.

Pietro tilted his head.

"Lana. Didn't expect you to actually show up."

So that was her name.

Lana took a slow breath.

"I told your runner I would. Two weeks ago."

Knuckle-cracker laughed under his breath.

Mustache guy just watched.

Pietro spread his hands.

"And yet here we are. Debt's at eleven thousand now. Interest runs fast when payments stop."

"I have most of it," Lana said.

She reached into her shirt, pulled out a fat roll of parchment tied with string.

"Eight thousand, four hundred. Clean notes. Count it if you want."

Mustache guy leaned forward.

"She's lying"

"Shut up, Carlo," Pietro said without looking at him.

His eyes stayed on Lana.

"Where'd a village seamstress get eight thousand?"

"Sold the shop. Sold everything. Borrowed from family. Doesn't matter. It's here."

Pietro stared at the roll like it might bite him.

Then he nodded at the barrel guy.

"Take it. Count."

Barrel got up, lumbered over, snatched the parchment from her hand.

He untied it, flipped through the notes fast.

Grunted.

"Looks real. Numbers match."

Pietro's smile got thinner.

"Still short. Two thousand, six hundred. And the girl's already been processed. Papers signed. She's on the block tomorrow morning."

Lana's hands clenched at her sides.

"You said thirty days."

"Thirty days from the first missed payment. That was three months ago. You're lucky I didn't sell her two weeks back."

"I'm here now."

"You're late."

Silence stretched.

Carlo smirked.

"Told you. Waste of time."

Lana looked straight at Pietro.

"Give me a week. I'll get the rest."

Pietro laughed once.

short, dry.

"A week? You sold your whole life and still came up short. What are you gonna do in seven days? Rob a noble?"

"I'll find a way."

"No," Pietro said.

"You won't. Girl's pretty. Light hair, plump body. She'll fetch at least four thousand sold as a sex slave.

Maybe five if someone likes the innocent look. I'm not waiting on promises from a grandmother."

Lana took one step closer.

Voice dropped.

"She's seventeen. She doesn't belong here."

"Should've thought of that before her father signed her name on the line."

"Her father's dead. You knew that."

Pietro shrugged.

"Debt doesn't die with the signer. Your problem."

I stayed low behind the couch.

Heart hammering.

Part of me wanted to stand up right then.

Smash Carlo's face into the table.

But there were four of them.

And I still didn't know who else was listening outside that door.

Lana's shoulders sagged.

just a fraction.

Then she straightened again.

"What if I take her place?"

Pietro raised an eyebrow.

"You?"

"I'm healthy. I can work. Cook, sew, clean. Whatever you need. Take me instead. Let her go."

Hearing her words I couldn't stand it anymore and jumped straight at Pietro.

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