Gwen's hand stayed under her coat. Her lavender eyes cut between Ivan and Brom.

  "Your friend," she said.

  "Yeah." Ivan lowered his hands. "About that walnut sized red stone. You took it off a girl in a hood a few days back. Ring any bells?"

  "I take a lot of things off a lot of people." Gwen's chin came up. "That's my job."

  "Great career choice… really though, I just need the stone back."

  "And what do I get?"

  The honest answer was , and he knew how that was going to land before he said it, but the silence was stretching and Gwen's hand was still under that coat and Brom was watching from behind the counter with his arms crossed.

  "You get to do the right thing?" Ivan tried.

  Gwen stared at him.

  "The right thing, for once." she said.

  "Yeah."

  "The right thing." She pulled her hand out from under her coat, which was empty, no weapon, just her bony fingers and scratched her nose. "You come into a shop that ain't yours, tell me to hand over goods I stole fair and square, and your big pitch is 'do the right thing.'"

  "When you say it like that it sounds—"

  "Stupid? Yeah. It sounds stupid because it is stupid." Gwen dropped back onto her stool and crossed her legs. "You know what the right thing gets you in this part of the city? Nothin'. The right thing gets you a knife between your belly and your pockets turned out while you bleed on the cobbles."

  "Okay, that's… that's dark, but—"

  "I need that money." Gwen's voice dropped. The bravado cracked for half a second, "I need it to eat. I need it for a place to sleep that ain’t the cold shit smellin’ streets. You understand? I don't care about your friend. I don't care about your damn rock.”

  He understood that. He understood it more than he wanted to, because he'd been in this world for less than two days and he'd already been beaten half to death in an alley and woken up in a bathtub full of his own blood… but understanding it didn't change a damn thing.

  "I get it," he said. "I do. But that stone isn't just valuable. Without it, my friend can't—"

  "Don't care."

  "—can't complete something that matters to a lot of people, not just her, and if you'd just—"

  "Still don't care… your friend's problems ain't my problems. My problem is I'm broke and hungry and Brom owes me coin for work I already did. So unless you've got gold in your pockets—" She looked him up and down. Took in the borrowed clothes, the scuffed boots, the general air of a man who did not, in fact, have gold in his pockets. "—which you don't. So we're done."

  Something hot climbed up Ivan's throat.

  "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"

  Gwen's eyes narrowed. "What'd you just say to me?"

  "I said you're a piece of shit. You stole something from someone, and now you're sitting here acting like you're the fucking victim because the world owes you a hot meal. Newsflash… the world doesn't owe you a god damn thing."

  Gwen was off the stool. She was shorter than him by a full head, but the way she squared up made the height difference feel like it was insignificant.

  "You don't know a god damn thing about me," she said. Her voice was low.

  "You don't know where I sleep. You don't know what I eat. You don't know what I've done to stay alive in this city since I was eight years old, so don't you stand there in your clean clothes and your full belly and tell me about what I fucking deserve."

  "My clothes aren't clean." Ivan looked down at himself. Full of blood stains and vomit. "And I haven't eaten since yesterday, so we're actually in the same boat there."

  "We are not in the same boat, I don't know you. I don't like you. And I'm not givin' you that stone."

  "You don't have the stone." Ivan jerked his thumb at Brom. "He has the stone."

  "Because I gave it to him! To sell! For money! For me!"

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "For you to spend on what? Maybe you should fix those holes in your boots first."

  Gwen's face went red. Actually red, a flush that climbed from her neck to her ears and turned her lavender hair into something almost comical against the color. She took a step forward and jabbed her finger into Ivan's chest, and her finger was bony and sharp and it hurt more than it should have.

  "Say one more thing about my boots," she said. "One more thing. I dare you."

  "Your boots are so holy, that a—"

  Gwen's hand pulled back like she was going to hit him. Ivan flinched… he couldn't help it, his body remembered the beating he had taken not too long ago, and his arms came up on reflex.

  "Enough." Rory's voice came from the doorway.

  Ivan turned. Rory was standing in the doorframe, hood pulled back, her rose-colored hair exposed to the world. The Morningstar Orchid sat behind her ear, its white petals against the pink strands of her hair.

  "You are Gwen?" Rory stepped inside. "The one who took my stone?"

  Gwen's hand dropped. She looked at Rory suspiciously.

  "Who's askin'?"

  "My name is Rory." Rory stopped in the middle of the shop, halfway between Ivan and Gwen. "The stone you took from me contains the spiritual nature of the Great Beast Ifrit. Without it, I cannot complete my inscription. I cannot become what I need to become." She paused. "I understand you need money. I understand you are hungry."

  "Don't fucking patronize me," Gwen snapped.

  "I am not." Rory's voice didn't change. "I grew up in a place where food was not always certain. I know what hunger does to a person. I know the choices it forces." She took a breath. "So I will offer you this: return the stone, and I will make sure you have food. Shelter. A place that is warm and dry and safe. For as long as I am able to provide it."

  Gwen’s lavender eyes searched Rory's face, checking for the tell, the twitch, the thing that said .

  "Food and shelter," Gwen said, with a laugh. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Right. Sure. And where's this food and shelter comin' from, exactly? You're a candidate for Royal succession who got robbed in an alley. You've got no guards, no money, and your only muscle is—" She pointed at Ivan. "—that guy. Who I could probably knock over with a stiff breeze."

  "Hey," Ivan said.

  "So forgive me if I don't exactly trust your promises, lady. I've heard 'em before. From better liars than you."

  Rory opened her mouth to respond—

  She was interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone in the shop went still.

  Brom was the first to move, as he straightened behind the counter, tugged his vest flat, and ran a hand over his thin hair.

  "That'll be the buyer," he said.

  Brom walked around the counter and reached for the door latch. Ivan looked at Rory. Rory looked at Ivan. Gwen looked at both of them and crossed her arms.

  Brom opened the door.

  The woman who stepped through was tall. Her hair was black, cut to a bob that framed her jaw. She wore tight leather that hugged her waist and her chest and left little to the imagination about her body underneath. She had a heavy cloak that hung from her shoulders.

  She was beautiful. Distractingly, aggressively beautiful, the kind of beautiful that felt like a weapon all on its own.

  The woman smiled. It was warm. The kind of smile that puts people at ease, and Ivan didn't trust it for a second.

  "Brom." Her voice was low, smooth, with a heavy accent. "I hope I'm not too late."

  "Right on time, Natasha." Brom closed the door behind her. "I have the item. As promised."

  "Wonderful." The woman's eyes swept the room. They passed over Ivan, and landed on Gwen, who had pressed herself back against the wall. Then the woman's eyes moved on, past Gwen, and found Rory.

  Then the woman turned back to Brom and reached into her cloak. She produced a leather purse, and set it on the counter. "The agreed price," she said. "Plus ten percent for the inconvenience of the delay."

  Brom's hand twitched toward the purse. He caught himself, glanced at Ivan and Rory, and pulled his hand back.

  "There's been... some interest from other parties." Brom said, trying to squeeze blood from two stones at once.

  "Other parties, how… interesting."

  "They've made a case for the item. A personal claim."

  "A personal claim." Natasha's smile didn't waver. "And does this personal claim come with gold?"

  Brom said nothing. Which was answer enough.

  "Then I believe we have a transaction." Natasha pushed the purse an inch closer to Brom. "The stone, please."

  "Wait."

  Rory stepped forward. The Morningstar Orchid in her hair, its petals closed tight.

  "Please," Rory said. "I would like to negotiate."

  Natasha turned slowly. Her dark eyes found Rory's gold ones and held them.

  The shop got smaller. Ivan's skin prickled, a crawling sensation across the back of his neck and down his arms, the animal part of his brain screaming danger, danger, danger. Something about the way Natasha was looking at Rory was setting off the alarm bells.

  "Negotiate," Natasha said. She was still smiling. "Of course. What do you propose?"

  "The stone belongs to me." Rory's voice held. Barely. Ivan could hear the strain in it. "It was stolen from my person. It contains something of great spiritual significance. I have no gold to offer, but this orchid marks me as a successor to the crown, and I can—"

  "A successor." Natasha's smile changed.

  Ivan's gut clenched. The smile was the same shape, but the thing behind it was different. The warmth drained out of it the way color drains out of a face when the blood leaves. What was left was still a smile, technically. The way a knife is technically a kitchen tool.

  "A Royal successor," Natasha said. She took a step toward Rory. Just one step. Her cloak shifted, and the shapes underneath it shifted with it. "With gold eyes. And rose-colored hair."

  Rory didn't step back. Ivan wanted her to step back.

  "You're a Nephilim," Natasha said.

  The word landed in the room like a dropped blade. Brom's hand moved under the counter, reaching for something, or just bracing himself. Ivan's throat tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears, and every instinct he had was telling him to grab Rory and run but his feet wouldn't move.

  "I am," Rory said.

  Natasha laughed. It was a warm laugh, rich and genuine, and it was the most terrifying sound Ivan had ever heard.

  "Well," Natasha said. She rolled her shoulders. "I came here expecting a simple job… a quick exchange, nothing worth remembering." Her eyes hadn't left Rory's face. "But finding a Nephilim and a successor in one? In person? In a pawnshop in the slums with no guards and no escort?"

  Patreon.

  Discord.