In the market, Sera walked.
The boy was beside her. His small hand was in hers. His dark hair caught the light. His face was bright. Interested. He was looking at everything— the stalls, the merchants, the fruit, the bread, the people.
Sera was looking at nothing.
Her mind was on the door she had left behind. On the sounds that had come through it. On the moans. On the cries. On the wet, obscene, relentless sounds that she had heard and that her body had responded to and that her mind could not stop replaying.
She was wet.
Her panty was soaked. The training tunic did not show it— the loose fabric hid the stain. But she could feel it. The warmth. The slick. The aching. Her nipples were stiff— pressing against the tunic, visible if anyone looked. Her pussy was throbbing— the lips swollen, the clit aching, the need building.
