Mia M Dre's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

Mia took the second exit at a steady pace, the list pressed flat against her ribs, the comb a small weight in her bag. The hall narrowed toward a side door she had marked on her first pass. She reached for the handle and stopped. The buyer stood in the doorway, filling it. Between his thumb and finger he held a small paper tag — her shop's inventory label, lifted from inside her bag. He was younger than she expected, lean and barefoot-rough, a strip of net knotted at his waist, torn pants frayed at the cuffs. He turned the label so she could see her own mark. The card caught the dim light — glossy, holographic, her shop's seal pressed clean across the front. "You're a long way from your shop," he said, soft. Mia did not answer. She set her hand on the bag, on the comb beneath the cloth, and met his eyes. He stepped aside half a pace and tipped his chin toward the door. "Go. But I know your name now, and you know mine is coming." Mia walked past him into the dim street, the comb hers again, her cover gone for good. She did not run. She kept her steps even until the house fell behind her. Her hands shook only once, when she touched the comb through the cloth. The trade was made without her asking. She had the heirloom and the list of names. He had her shop, her seal, and the next move. Mia turned toward the water. Her mother could not know yet. But someone below had to — because the buyer was coming, and she would not meet him alone.