Elowen's POV:
The air smells faintly of damp wood and old smoke.
I slow my steps. Somewhere ahead, voices murmur. Male voices.
Low. I press closer to the wall, careful to keep my footsteps quiet.
"…couldn't have gone far."
The first voice sounds irritated. "She ran this way," another replies. "I saw her." A third man speaks, rougher than the others.
"Then find her."
I edge forward until the alley bends slightly. From there, I can see them.
Three men stand near a pile of wooden barrels further down the passage. Their clothing is plain, the sort worn by laborers or dock workers, but something about their posture feels wrong. Too alert. Too deliberate.
They are searching. One kicks aside a basket with unnecessary force.
"Come out, little mouse," he calls mockingly. "We only want to talk."
I glance behind me. The street beyond the alley is still busy, sunlight spilling across the cobblestones. If I walk back now, Selene and Hailey will still be waiting near the cobbler's shop.
But then I remember the girl's face as she ran. The panic in her eyes.
I turn back toward the men.
"…if we lose another one—"
"Don't start," the second man mutters.
"The master said no mistakes."
A pause. Then the first man spits onto the ground.
"Well, maybe the master shouldn't be asking for half the city's children."
My breath catches. Children.
The third man lowers his voice, though the narrow alley carries every word.
"We're getting paid enough not to complain."
"That depends on whether we actually deliver," the first one replies. He kicks another crate.
"If we don't find her soon, we'll just grab another girl from the market."
My stomach tightens. They are not chasing this child alone. They are hunting. I glance around carefully. If the girl ran in here, she must be hiding somewhere nearby. A faint sound reaches my ears. A soft scrape. It comes from the shadows beside me. I lower myself slowly beside a stack of wooden crates.
"Hello?" I whisper.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then a pair of frightened eyes appears through the narrow gap between two boxes.
The girl.
She can't be older than eight.
Her brown hair is tangled, and dirt streaks her cheeks where tears have dried. She presses herself deeper into the shadows when she sees me.
"It's alright," I murmur gently. Her breathing is quick and uneven.
"I'm not with them."
She shakes her head slightly, clearly unconvinced.
Behind us, the men continue searching. "Check the side passages," one of them says.
"I already did."
"Then do it again."
Their footsteps begin moving closer.
I glance toward the girl again.
"If you stay here, they'll find you," I whisper. She clutches the edge of the crate.
"They took my friend," she says suddenly, her voice barely audible.
My heart tightens.
"When?" I ask quietly.
"Last night."
Her lower lip trembles. "They said she was worth more." A cold chill runs down my spine. The footsteps grow louder.
One of the men is walking toward this side of the alley.
The girl's eyes widen in terror. I lean closer. "Listen to me," I whisper. "When I tell you to run, you run back toward the market. Do you understand?" She hesitates.
Then nods.
A shadow stretches across the ground as the man approaches the crates.
I grab a loose piece of wood from the ground and toss it down the alley behind the men.
The clatter echoes sharply off the stone walls.
All three of them turn instantly.
"What was that?"
"Back there."
Their attention shifts toward the far end of the alley.
"Go check."
Two of the men move away.
The third lingers only a moment longer before following. As soon as they turn the corner, I look at the girl.
"Now."
She darts out from the crates like a startled rabbit. For a moment, she freezes in the open alley. Then she runs. Fast. Her small feet slap against the stones as she disappears toward the bright market street.
I exhale slowly.
The sound of footsteps returns almost immediately. The men are coming back. I step away from the crates, brushing dust from my skirts just as the first man rounds the corner. He stops when he sees me. Suspicion flickers across his face.
"What are you doing here?"
I meet his gaze calmly. "I was looking for a shop," I reply lightly. "I seem to have taken the wrong turn."
His eyes narrow.
"You see a little girl come through here?"
I tilt my head slightly as if considering the question.
"No."
The second man glances down the alley toward the market.
"She must've slipped out."
The first curses under his breath.
"Damn it."
"We'll find another one," the third mutters.
A tense silence passes between them.
Then one of the men lowers his voice.
"Doesn't matter. The shipments leave before the masquerade anyway."
My attention sharpens.
Masquerade.
The market celebration the palace announced only hours ago.
The first man nods grimly.
"As long as the buyer gets what he paid for."
They begin walking past me toward the street.
One of them pauses beside me briefly, studying my face.
Then he shrugs.
"Stay out of alleys, lady."
"I'll remember that."
They leave.
Their footsteps fade into the distant noise of the market.
I remain standing there for several seconds, my thoughts racing.
Shipments.
Children.
A buyer is already waiting in the capital.
And the deadline…
Before the masquerade ball. At last, I turn and walk back toward the sunlight. The bright sounds of the marketplace return all at once as I step onto the street. Vendors shouting. Music playing. People laughing. Everything looks exactly as it did before. But the world feels different now.
Because somewhere in this city, someone is gathering children like cargo.
And they intend to finish before the palace ball begins.