A sheet of pale fog hung high in the sky, the sun's edge blurring through its filter. Darker clouds wove through like ink spilled on parchment as phantom drizzle pricked exposed skin. Bitter winds followed, sharp as needles.
Eve walked.
She sized up the path before her. The grey horizon disappeared into the corroded ground. Buildings hunched together: wood leaning on stone, and rust bleeding into iron. Mud swallowed boots with each step, a wet gasp where the street pretended to be solid.
Navigating the tangling roads with familiar ease, Eve exited the mouth of one with a sharp left turn. And there she emerged, pouring into a sea of marching heads.
This was the Southern Bazaar, hub of commerce. Footsteps beat against the street as vendors lined every nook and cranny. Chatter rose like steam, sharp and insistent.
Eve matched the crowds pace. Her eyes scanned the curiosities: woven baskets, earthen pots. The smell of wet wool and fried bread lured in victims.
In a corner, a boy stood on a crate, peddling newspaper. A plaid coat hung loose over his scrawny frame.
"Extra! Extra! Facestealer takes another! Clinics overrun! Uppers bleed, Lowers watch!"
Eve walked up, flashing a smile."One copy of the Daily Taint, please."
"That'll be 1 Bronze and 30 Coppers, miss."
She shoved the coins into his palm.
"Three. Keep it." Eve didn't watch him pocket it. She knew he'd count it twice, like she would.
The boy's mouth curled at the corners. "Praise the Sun."
Eve unfolded the front page. The bold headlines burned:
THE DAILY TAINT
FACESTEALER CLAIMS ANOTHER—VICTIMS RISE TO 11
Eve recalled Tilda's warning. Her stomach tightened.
"So it was true..."
She never doubted Tilda. Not once. Still, Eve remade her vows, to not cause Tilda worry.
Other headlines glared up at her:
"Uppers dead in detention, Lightkeeper summoned...huh? Commissioner bribed with potato fries?"
"Must be the recession", she muttered.
Her eyes lingered at one spot: "Moontouched overrun clinics..."
A sudden uproar snapped her gaze from the paper. To her front, a mob surging at a stall, shoving and scrambling past one another.
Eve squeezed past the chaos, landing by a solitary booth drowning in emptiness instead. The owner perked up at the sound of her arrival.
"Pleasant Morning, Mikail."
"Eve!" His slump vanished. "You look like the earth wrestled you for once."
His eyes dropped to the bag in her hands. "Tilda send you, did she?"
"You know her well", Eve replied, throwing a glance at the neighbouring stall. "Business seems slow today. Tough crowd?"
"They'd eat gutter-rat if it wore a gold sticker", Mikail scoffed. He jabbed at a man in the crowd. "See him? Paid double for stale apples. I've seen two worms eat it before he did."
"That's why I'm here", Eve said, handing over the jute pouch. "To get some apples. Only the best."
Mikail beamed.
"Fresh from the North. My cousins's plot. Cheapest anywhere in Upper." He puffed his chest, holding an apple to the dim sun. "For you? Eleven Bronze."
Eve smiled. Mikail's prices were fair unlike most here. She counted out eleven bronze.
Apples in hand, she turned toward the southern underpass—her route to work. Mikail waved her off, one hand hovering over his heart.
The crowd thinned as she walked. The cacophony of laughter and footsteps bled into the hum of distant traffic.
Nearing the tunnel, she rolled to a stop. It looked as it always did—a hole punched into stone. Dark. Unassuming. A hush fell near the mouth, like a breath held too long. Two men in black froze the space with silence. Their boots stamped the ground flat. An emblem on the right sleeve: a dark sky dotted with stars.
"Nightwatchers..."
Why are they here?
Others threw careful glances. Their foreheads twisted, sweat beading down their temples like a gashing river.
An old priest approached the guards, sun-lamps tied to the waist.
"I apologise, Father. Selected personnel only."
Blocked. She'd have to retrace her steps. A muscle jumped near her temple, the bazaar's clamour splintering her thoughts.
"Blocks like this means bodies later." A voice rang like plucked string, carried with smoke. "Nightwatchers don't cordon for air, they cordon for silence."
Eve traced the voice to a modest, forgettable stall. The woman manning it was anything but.
Tall. Ebony skin. White eyes like two moons. A dull, blue cloth draped her like curtains. Her hair coiled like smoke. In her hand, a pipe, smelling of something sweet.
Ink-black sigils spilled down her cheeks. Living scripts in a language Eve didn't know.
"I bet I can turn that frown around", the woman said. "Love potions. Palm readings. I do it all. Fate is a dastardly thing. But for my customers? I pry it open like a book."
Eve hesitated. "I don't believe in luck."
"Now, now. Don't be like that. Going to the moats, are we?" Her white eyes narrowed. "That detour's longer than the scars on your knuckles."
Eve rubbed her hands. Deep grooves etched her skin, still tender.
The woman broke into a quiet laughter.
"No need to stare daggers. I read the future, not minds."
Eve stepped closer. "How did you know?"
"Your face is rough. Olive. Callouses on your pads. Shaved down, but still there." Fingers traced Eve's palm. "Wax seals on your boot. Three layers. Like you're used to it", she said, glancing at Eve's feet. A cloudy sheen penetrated past dust and grime.
"There's only so many things that come to mind when you put it all together. The rest was luck."
Fumes drifted between them, pulling them closer.
"Not as scary as I look, am I. Humour me. Since you're my first customer today, it's on the house."
Eve locked eyes, unflinching. "I never said you were scary."
The lady smiled to her ears. A deck of cards shot up her palms from her sleeves. She shuffled, then laid them flat.
"Pick five. Any five."
Eve's arms extended, stiff with hesitation, picking cards at random. The lady turned them up and cleared the rest.
"Let's see...the Shade of Time, Grave of Sun. Oh, Boat of Life? You should learn to swim, if you can't already."
The lady paused on the final card, looking intently. Her eyes met Eve's.
"Mark of Kings." Her voice dropped. "You'll live long. Long enough to see The Sun die. Riches? None. But fame will find you. Even the Dead God's bones will remember your name."
A grimace twisted Eve's face.
"Aren't you glad? Now you know you'll die known by many."
"I'd rather die with my name."
Eve stared back. Her eyes unblemished, voice steady.
No one spoke. A wall of silence settled, building tall like a warning, when the air cracked.
A whip split the wind into two. Under its edge, a child cried, and a woman endured. Her shawl trembled. Not from the cold, but fear.
A man loomed over them. His coat drank daylight, thick as blood, tapering near the knees. Face carved from steel—his eyes held the flat sheen of a dagger left in the rain. He stood taller. Feet firmer. The stars on his sleeve weren't dull voids. They blazed like the dawn, the symbol of the Sun set against the pallid sky.
Shoulders hunched, eyes raced. Yet none looked directly.
Eve grit her teeth. Her hands curled, nails digging half-moons into her palms.
"Blackcoats", the lady spat. Her stifled voice oozed venom. "Torn limbs. Faceless bodies. The monster got under their rotten skin. So they want to climb into ours."
The lady leaned closer to whisper.
"Don't meet their eyes" Her hand tightened on Eve's wrist. "They hunt the ones who remember what they've done. I don't need cards to read that."
Eve peeled away, her voice cutting through the air.
"Monsters? I thought we called them Nightwatchers."
Besides, the real monsters don't wear just stars.
A smile settled the woman's face. Her white eyes shimmered, crinkling at the corners. She shook her sleeves again. A piece of biscuit landed in its stead.
"From beyond the Wall. It sees. Tastes sweet too. Like a serenade at Night."
The biscuit pressed into her hand.
Eve nodded. A whisper of gratitude escaped her pursed lips. Quiet steps and winding smoke bade mute farewells.
Before long, Kala saw her disappear into the crowd. Her lips moved, curling into a silent prayer—Raats' blessing for the hunted. 'May the Night be with you.'
Before long, Eve left the bustling bazaar behind. Grinding carriages replaced sobbing mothers, the woman with moon-eyes gone, but her parting present still rolled in her hands.
Eve pried the biscuit open. It was hollow, with a thin string of paper inside.
"Nothing in life is promised. Only the Sun rises with certainty."
She turned it over:
"A short life, well-lived, is better than a long one marred with fame and Uncertainty."
Eve frowned. The paper crumbled in her fists.
"What the hell? That's totally different!"
She ate the biscuit, choking on anger. The taste of ash coated her tongue.