Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of domestic abuse and human trafficking/exploitation involving minors. Reader discretion is advised.

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She turned and vanished into the shadows of the alley, moving quickly, with Gale’s cloak billowing silently behind her. Gale watched the empty street for a dozen heartbeats, ensuring she was not followed. Eventually, he turned his steps toward the narrow street she had described. It was exactly as she said, its lamps trimmed and well-kept despite the grime of the surrounding neighborhood, casting a sharp glow over a building that looked entirely too clean, and entirely too deliberate, to belong here.

Gale didn’t approach it immediately. He slowed instead, letting himself blend into the slow rhythm on the street, stooping to pick up a fallen sign on the road and returning it to its place as a random good deed by a normal, well-meaning passerby. As he did so, he watched the restaurant door from across the way, keeping his posture loose and his eyes sharp.

Warm light spilled through the restaurant’s tall windows of clean glass, unmarred by soot or grime despite the district. It had clearly been scrubbed and repainted recently, and the wood was oiled and cared for. A discreet sign with a name carved in elegant script hung above the door. This wasn’t a front that relied on secrecy through isolation, but through normalcy.

Most people that came and went were ordinary patrons, well-dressed, confident, queuing politely, and ushered inside after speaking to the host without ceremony. But every so often, Gale noticed something different. A man would reach the welcome desk and linger a fraction longer. A sleeve would be tugged back. Another wore gloves and removed them only after crossing the threshold, flashing his wrist at the host before the host subtly stepped aside and ushered him into what Gale guessed was being masqueraded as an exclusive room.

Gale watched and waited until he’d seen it three times, ruling out coincidence or paranoia. Only then did he drift closer and join the line. He was gracious about it, allowing others to step ahead of him, smiling apologetically as he waved them on.

“I’m waiting on a friend,” he told the man behind him with an easy shrug. “But it’s my fault she’s late, really. It was meant as a surprise, and so I didn’t give her much notice about the reservation.”

The excuse drew a sympathetic chuckle and no further questions. It took time, but eventually the door opened and a man stepped out alone. He was well dressed, his coat of good wool, his boots clean. He moved with the quick, distracted gait of someone eager to be gone, head already turned as if planning his route. Gale leaned slightly toward the couple in front of him, murmuring an idle comment about the midnight draft, then stepped backward to create the situation he needed.

The collision was solid. The departing man hit the cobbles with a sharp grunt, his palms slapping against the damp stone.

Gale reacted with a fluid, practiced panic, dropping to one knee before the man could even register the impact. “I am so terribly sorry,” he said, his voice thick with polite embarrassment. He reached out with both hands; his right hand grabbed the man's elbow to lift him, while his left hand moved quickly, grazing the shallow breast pocket of the man’s coat. His fingers brushed silk lining, then dipped low to pinch cold, stamped metal. He slid the token smoothly into his palm, curling his fingers tight as he used the same motion to brush street grit from the man’s lapel. “Entirely my fault. Are you hurt, sir?”

The man waved him off, his face twisted in annoyance. “No, no. I should have been watching the path.”

Gale helped him rise, noting the tiny glint of a dark tattoo peeking above the man’s collar before the coat collar hid it again. Once the disgruntled patron hurried off, Gale stepped out of the queue and retreated into the dark throat of a side alley.

He opened his hand. Resting in his palm was a heavy, blackened brass token. Stamped deep into its face was the interlocking sigil from Maren’s parchment. Slipping the token between his fingers, Gale stepped back into the street and rejoined the line.

When his turn came, the host at the door offered a hollow, professional smile. Gale did not speak. He simply opened his hand, letting the heavy brass token catch the light of the entryway lantern.

The host’s eyes flicked to the brass, and his polite mask sharpened into a knowing smirk. “Ah,” the man said, stepping aside. “Of course. Welcome back, sir.” He gestured to the door behind him and when he opened it, another man, equally well dressed, equally composed, waited inside.

“Welcome, dear customer,” he said warmly as Gale stepped forward confidently. “We’re so pleased you could join us tonight.”

He led Gale past a heavy curtain at the back, voice lowering as he spoke. “Our merchandise is always stored carefully. Kept polished and pretty for our clients,” he assured him. “And of course, no worries for you except to admire the products that interest you the most.”

He drew a second curtain aside and Gale saw the cages. There were rows of them. Carefully spaced. Each holding a girl, mostly teenagers, silent and sitting awkwardly on beds, their eyes looking too large in their thin faces. They were clearly being kept on a strict diet to maintain a certain physique. Their hair was neatly arranged in various up-dos, and the garments were disturbingly scant for girls their age. The makeup on their faces had been carefully applied to make them look as enticing as possible and to Gale’s increasing disgust, older than they probably were. Thinking back to Tobias’s daughter, it was clear that these slavers went after young women, girls, really, who had not yet even come of age or just barely so.

Gale schooled his face to remain politely disinterested, maybe even faintly displeased. The sort of expression a man might wear when shown flawed merchandise or in his case, when trying to get the man to share more information to better inform his plans to close their operation down entirely.

“Local?” he asked at last, letting a note of distaste creep into his voice. “Or did you import them from elsewhere?”

The man beside him smiled as if they were discussing wine. “Most are local,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Familiar customs, easier to take care of in the area. Plus,” he half-whispered almost in glee, “they are much easier to tame.”

Gale inclined his head, as though that explanation satisfied him. Inside, he resisted the urge to vomit or to kill the man on the spot.

“That said,” the man continued, lowering his voice with conspiratorial pleasure, “we do pride ourselves on offering something exceptional from time to time for our more discerning clients.”

He led Gale along the row, past downcast faces, sultry postures, until they reached the far left. Here, another curtain hung thicker, heavier, positioned to shield what lay behind it from casual view.

“With us only a few days,” the man said. “A truly rare acquisition.”

He pulled the curtain aside with a flourish. The girl inside the cage lifted her head as the light entered and she squinted at them, clearly having been left in the dark for a while. White hair spilled over her shoulders, unbound and dulled with grime, but unmistakable even in the low light. Her ears tapered to delicate points through her hair. Her sharp green eyes met Gale’s without flinching.

An elf.

The revulsion hit Gale like a physical blow, a cold weight dropping into the pit of his stomach. In Valmare, elves were scholars, diplomats, and guardians of ancient memory; to cage one was a sacrilege that bordered on madness. The sight of her dirty, pointed ears peeking through tangled white hair threatened to shatter his carefully maintained mask.

He felt the familiar, dangerous heat rising in his chest. His throat tightened, a sudden slick of cold sweat breaking out along his collarbone as the ghost of an old panic flared in his mind. He forced his fingers to remain loose at his sides, refusing to let them drift toward his hilt.

Not yet, he told himself, burying the rage deep down.

“She’s fairly spirited,” the man said almost fondly as he caressed the side of her cage. “Troublesome at first. Still is, if I’m honest. But that only increases her value to those of us who like a challenge.”

Gale didn’t respond but allowed his gaze to slide past the elf as he carefully took in the women closest to her, careful to avoid turning his head.

And then he saw Eleanor. She sat on a bed two cages down, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around herself as if holding herself together through sheer will. She clearly hadn’t been through the same mind-breaking training that some of the other girls did yet, and for that, he was thankful. Her hair was now cut shorter than Maren had described, uneven and rough, but her face was unmistakable now that Gale knew to look for it. Her unfocused eyes were fixed on the floor.

At this point, as Gale had intended, the man had clearly mistaken his silence for interest.

“If tonight’s preview intrigues you,” he said, producing a small card from his inner pocket, “you’ll want to attend our meeting tomorrow evening at our warehouse. Invitation only, of course.” He pressed the card into Gale’s hand. “All the girls you’ve seen tonight will be available then. Along with a few additions.”

Gale glanced at the card. It was made of heavy paper, dyed black, with words clearly written in shimmering metallic ink. That cursed sigil lay faintly embossed in one corner, screaming luxury and exclusivity.

“Much obliged,” Gale said. He allowed a trace of approval into his tone, just enough to be convincing. “Thank you for the courtesy.”

The man bowed his head slightly. “We aim to please.” He then went on to provide the location of the warehouse, giving specifics about how sales would take place and the rules of the process.

When he finished, Gale thanked him, turned, and returned to the dining room. As he stepped back out into the welcome area, he was greeted once again with candlelight and conversation. Plates were being cleared and wine refilled, maintaining their illusion of civility. He wondered how many of them were privy to the vile business being conducted on the other side of the wall and were more than happy to contribute to the façade and how many would be absolutely horrified when they found out.

By the time he reached Tobias’s inn, the sky was paling at the edges, night loosening its grip. The innkeeper was still awake, a mug cradled in tired hands. He straightened when he saw Gale’s figure in the window and rushed to let him in.

“You’re back,” he murmured in greeting.

“For now,” Gale replied.

“The woman you sent our way is sleeping downstairs in the room next to my daughter’s,” Tobias offered before Gale even had to ask. Gale nodded his thanks and didn’t ask for further details. It was incredibly late into the night now, and they were both tired.

Tobias followed him towards the stairs, concern etched deep but restrained. Gale leaned in just enough to keep his voice low.

“I found what I needed to confirm,” he said. “It’s probably best that I not play tomorrow, as I’ll be leaving again tomorrow night.”

Tobias nodded once. “Your room’s yours as long as you need it. And we’ll keep the woman safe while you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” Gale said simply.

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*collapses into mentally exhausted puddle

Strap in, guys. We're riding this train!

~tsiagisel (feels weird to have xoxo here 😥)