Sandra had seen her first.

  She had been the one standing at the window, her small fingers trembling as they pushed aside the delicate lace curtains to reveal the early morning haze that lay thick and still over the city. The sky beyond was still wrong as red as the day before, not as drenched in that eerie, blood-stained glow, but still tainted, as if something had tried to scrub the sky clean and failed, leaving a dull, sickly stain that refused to be erased.

  And just beyond the fog, standing in the silent, waiting streets, there they were.?Seven figures. Motionless. Half-shrouded in fog. Men in black coats.?Sandra barely breathed, her throat closing around the sharp point of fear as her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the dead silence pressing in from all sides. She stepped back from the window, hands clenched into fists, her voice barely more than a whisper as she turned to face the others. "Lea."

  Lea was already moving. Her boots hit the wooden floorboards hard as she crossed the room with sharp, deliberate steps, grabbing her cloak from where it had been draped over the armchair, the fabric still heavy with the lingering scent of damp air and smoke. She pulled it on, buttoning the front with quick, precise movements, her expression set, her focus narrowed.

  There was no need to ask what Sandra had seen. She already knew.?The market never forgets. And a debt remained to be paid.

  Gemini stirred last, undisturbed, stretching lazily like a cat waking from a pleasant dream, her bare feet clicking noiselessly on the floor as she stood, her shoulders rolling. She exhaled long and slow, tilting her head with something too close to amusement as she glanced toward the door.

  "They're early."?Lea turned on her heel, sharp and cold, the edge in her voice dangerous. "You were expecting them." Gemini's lips curled into a slow, knowing grin, her fingers idly trailing along the wooden table beside her. "Of course."

  In a second, she had closed the space between them, her fingers snapping around Gemini's wrist in a crushing grip, pulling her forward so that their faces were inches apart, her voice dropping to something deep and dark. "What did you do?" Gemini didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She just blinked, her expression unchanged, her voice a soft, honeyed murmur.

  "Nothing."?Lea's grip tightened. Gemini smiled. "Yet." The front door shuddered. Sandra flinched. The knock hadn't come yet. But it would.

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  Lea knew the rhythm of the game. The market did not demand. It did not plead. It did not haggle. It simply waited. For its due. For its offering. For its collection.

  Lea let go of Gemini's wrist, jaw set, muscles tense with something unreadable as she turned toward the door. Behind her, the men in dark coats did not step forward. Did not move. Did not breathe.?They just watched.

  Sandra's voice was small, her breathing uneven. "What do we do?" Lea exhaled, slow and controlled, her mind turning, calculating.

  Then she reached for the lock but did not turn it but did not open the door. She had played this game before. The market did not ask permission. The market did not wait for an invitation. It came when it pleased.

  Still, Lea knew better than to be the one to open the door first. The air in the house thickened. The walls felt closer, pressing in, waiting, listening.?Sandra stood stiffly behind her, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath caught between fear and uncertainty.

  Gemini stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on the door, the corners of her lips twitching, her fingers idly tapping on her thigh, patient.?The men outside did not move.

  But something else did. A flicker of shadow under the door. A whisper of movement not of the living. Then a soft, delicate sound. The brush of paper. Sliding. Slipping under the threshold.?Lea's stomach tightened and took a step forward, slow and deliberate, crouching as her fingers reached for the envelope now resting on the floorboards.

  The paper was cold. Not like something left out in the crisp morning air. Not like something chilled by the winter breeze. As if it had been buried. As if it had waited somewhere deep underground before finding its way here. She picked it up.?A thick, yellowed envelope, sealed with a familiar stamp - black wax, unbroken, embossed with a seal she knew all too well. A perfect, inked circle. The mark of the market.

  Lea's throat tightened.?She turned the envelope over, slid a finger under the wax seal, and pulled out the letter inside. Sandra stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What does it say?"

  The ink was too dark. Almost wet.?The words were sharp, thin as bone, cutting through the paper as if they had been carved rather than written. There was no greeting. No name. No pleasantries. Just a message.?"You have taken from us. A debt must be repaid."

  Sandra's breath caught. Lea folded the letter once, tightly, as if she could break its meaning by force. But it was already burned into her ribs, settling deep beneath her skin. Gemini tilted her head, watching and smiling.

  Sandra's voice trembled. "What do we do?"?Lea didn't answer because she didn't know. She had always been in control. Always three steps ahead. Always holding the knife instead of standing under the blade.?But this? This was different. The market had been waiting. Watched. And now it had come to take. Sandra looked at them, wide-eyed. Hoping.

  Lea exhaled, slowly and deliberately. Then, without another word, she turned sharply, her coat flaring behind her as she walked toward the back door. Sandra's voice followed, hesitant, scared. "Where are you going?" but Lea was already out in the weathered garden.