Chapter 223: Shadow Tail
The Black Market did not sleep in the neat way townspeople imagined sleep. Even in daylight, the place lived in a half-light of its own making — stalls shaded by awnings and tapestries, lanterns still swinging from beams as if it were always evening, voices kept low, deals traded on the edge of decency. The passageways were a maze carved into stone that remembered every secret, and the smell — oil, frying fat, smoke, and the metallic tang of coin — sat in the throat like a warning.
