Mia M Dre's Arc

Chapter 3 of 13

The tide pool drop-off point was empty when Mia surfaced, still dark except for the gray line of dawn spreading across the horizon. She'd timed it perfectly—early enough that the potion would last, late enough that someone should be opening the shop. But the Seashell Antique Trader already had its lights on. Mia's hand went to the small device in her pocket as she watched a man carry crates through the front door. The merchant himself. She'd spent two weeks learning his staff's patterns, but never saw him arrive before his workers. He loaded another crate into a cart, his movements quick and practiced. Her window was closing—once those crates left, so would any chance of getting inside before the shop filled with people. She pulled out the device and pressed it against her wrist, feeling the tingle as her features shifted. The face that looked back at her from the shop window was older, sharper, someone who dealt in expensive acquisitions. She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the merchant, already forming her opening line about a collection of rare mirrors she needed to sell quickly. He looked up as she approached, and she watched his expression shift from suspicion to interest. By the time she finished describing the first mirror, he was inviting her inside to see his vault. But the vault was empty. Mia stood in the small back room, staring at the open safe door and bare shelves where her grandmother's comb should have been. The merchant gestured at the wooden boxes stacked near the entrance. "Moving everything to a private buyer," he said. "Estate collection, all sold as one lot. Picked it up myself this morning—can't trust the staff with pieces this valuable." Through the doorway, she could see the cart loaded with antique boxes, their brass clasps catching the early light. One had the word "Antiques" carved into its face. Her comb was in one of those boxes, already sold, already leaving. She glanced at the floor near the merchant's feet and saw a small worker badge that must have slipped from his pocket, the red stamp bright against the worn paper. The merchant followed her gaze and bent to retrieve it, tucking it away quickly. Mia kept her borrowed face calm as she thanked him and turned to leave, but her mind was racing through new calculations. The potion gave her six hours. The merchant's buyer was expecting delivery today. She'd planned for a vault, for locked doors and careful timing—not for chasing a moving target through the surface world. Outside, she watched him hitch the cart to a horse and climb into the driver's seat. She had two choices: return to the water and lose the comb forever, or follow him to wherever those boxes were going. Her hand touched the vial in her pocket, feeling how light it was now that she'd used it. No second chances. No backup plan. She started walking in the same direction the cart had gone, her temporary legs already aching, knowing she'd just traded her careful surveillance for something far more dangerous.