Morning came slow—gray, wet, and miserable. Clouds hung low over the city like a lid, and the air smelled faintly of wet stone and iron.

  Ramon pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the damp fabric cold against his skin. He didn’t bother to check if it was clean. It wasn’t. The hem was still caked with dirt from yesterday, and the frayed edges had started to unravel. He kept walking.

  The path to the Outer District market sloped downward, cracked in places from old damage no one had ever fixed. Moss crept up between the stones, and puddles rippled under his boots as he moved. He’d taken this same road just a few days ago, back when everything had felt confusing.

  Funny. Things still were.

  He hadn’t really slept. Not well, anyway.

  The bed at the inn had been quiet enough—no drunk shouting, no brawls outside the window—but his mind had refused to shut up. It kept going in circles, dragging him back to the night before. To Li Meiyun. Her words played on loop, like a half-broken charm that never shut off. Her voice had been calm, polite, even warm—but there was something coiled beneath it. Like a blade wrapped in silk.

  She’d given him a choice. Or maybe she hadn’t. He wasn’t sure anymore. Lifeline or leash, it didn’t matter.

  Standing still would kill him faster than walking into the wrong trap.

  And he still had questions.

  One man in the district might have answers. The same one who’d nearly gotten him killed.

  Barats.

  The market was already stirring by the time he reached it. Smoke curled from cookpots, thick with the smell of soy and ginger and something a little burned. Vendors shouted over each other, trying to hawk talismans, pills, dried roots, and half-rusted tools. A woman in a patched green robe was screaming at a stall owner about the price of firewood. No one looked twice at Ramon.

  Just another quiet body in a crowd full of them.

  He found Barats where he expected to: same spot near the edge of the vendor row, where the stalls gave way to alley and runoff drains. The merchant’s setup hadn’t changed much. The drooping cloth roof sagged worse than before, and the old wooden sign—burned at one corner, letters flaking—creaked in the breeze.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Barats stood behind a table, rearranging a tray of chipped knives and mismatched nails, acting like he wasn’t watching every person who passed.

  Ramon didn’t bother sneaking up. He wanted to be seen.

  Barats looked up. Recognition hit fast, followed by a twitch of guilt. Then something a little closer to fear.

  “You,” the man said. His voice caught like it didn’t know whether to whisper or shout. He straightened behind the stall, eyes flicking nervously left and right. “I thought you were—”

  “Dead?” Ramon asked, voice flat.

  Barats swallowed. “Gone.”

  “Well,” Ramon said, stepping closer, “guess you were wrong.”

  The man fumbled with a jar of nails. It wobbled in his hand before he managed to set it down. “Look, about what happened with Darin—”

  “I don’t care.” Ramon’s voice was low, but it cut straight through. “You sold me out. That’s done. I want answers now.”

  Barats blinked, then slowly stepped away from the table. His eyes didn’t stop moving. “Not here,” he muttered. “Too many ears.”

  He led Ramon into a side alley—a narrow gap between two storage sheds where rain dripped from a slanted tin roof. The ground was soft with rot. Smelled like mold and dead fish.

  Barats leaned against the wall like he was trying to look relaxed. He wasn’t pulling it off.

  “Soorin,” Ramon said quietly.

  Barats winced. Like just saying the name made him nervous. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

  Ramon didn’t respond. Just stared.

  The merchant sighed, rubbing his face. “Alright. Soorin’s dangerous. Real dangerous. Stronger than Darin ever was. He’s at the peak of Bone Refinement. Might’ve made it to Organ stage if the sect hadn’t locked him out. But instead of trying to climb their ladder, he built his own.”

  “The Crimson Ash Syndicate,” Ramon said.

  Barats nodded. “Exactly. They’re not just some gang. They’re the real bosses out here. He runs smuggling rings, controls half the black market, gets tribute from almost every stall that makes a profit. Including mine.”

  “You pay him?”

  Barats gave a bitter chuckle. “You think I’d still be standing here if I didn’t?”

  Ramon’s jaw clenched.

  “And he’s got a little brother,” Barats added, voice lower now. “Feorin. Twisted little bastard. Not as strong as Soorin, but worse in some ways. Always watching. Always smiling. He keeps tabs on everyone and makes sure Soorin knows what’s worth knowing.”

  “Feorin,” Ramon repeated. Another name to remember. Another threat to prepare for.

  “You’re lucky,” Barats said. “Whatever happened to Darin—Soorin hasn’t come looking for you yet. But that won’t last. Especially if Feorin finds out you’ve been poking around.”

  “Then I need to move faster,” Ramon muttered.

  Barats hesitated. “There’s something else,” he said finally. “I don’t know the whole picture, but… the sect’s shifting. People are saying something big’s coming. A war, maybe. Or a purge.”

  Ramon narrowed his eyes. “What kind of purge?”

  “No clue. But Darin and the others—before they disappeared—they kept talking about changes in the inner district. Disciples getting edgy. Tax collectors doubling down. I’ve been in this stall ten years, and I’ve never seen things get this tight. Something’s building, and when it breaks… the Outer District’s gonna bleed first.”

  Ramon nodded slowly, piecing things together.

  That’s why Li Meiyun had come to him. Why she was recruiting. Not for favors. For survival. She saw it coming. The cracks. The collapse. And she was preparing.

  “Thanks,” Ramon said quietly, turning to go.

  “That’s it?” Barats blinked. “You’re not gonna—?”

  Ramon paused. For a heartbeat, he really looked at the man.

  Barats had sold him out, sure. Almost got him killed. But he wasn’t some street enforcer or sect thug. He was a merchant. A man trying to scrape by, same as everyone else. Kicking him down wouldn’t make anything safer—it’d just light a fire Ramon didn’t need right now. Retaliation would draw attention, stir rumors, maybe even provoke Soorin himself.

  And honestly? Barats wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “You told me what I needed to know,” Ramon said. “That’s more than most. Stay useful, Barats.”

  And just like that, he walked away.