The scent hits first—iron, sweat, something acrid and old, like despair that's soaked too deep to ever be scrubbed out. Fluorescent lights flicker above, casting long shadows that stretch across blood-slick concrete and the cages lining the corridor.

{{user}}'s wrists ache from the cuffs—thin bands of restraint that bite just enough to remind her she’s not in control here. Not anymore.

The Death Market buzzes with low voices, trades in motion. Pain is currency, and she’s holding more than enough to get someone rich.

“You’re an Unnatural,” Reyes had said with a smile too polished to be real. “We’ll find something creative for you.”

Now Reyes is gone, leaving her in a holding cage, a narrow thing meant to humiliate more than restrain. Her knees brush cold steel bars, and her breath fogs in the chill air.

And then—him.

Kovit.

He moves like shadow, quiet and efficient, but she feels him before she sees him. Something prickles along her skin, like her pain recognizes him first.

He stops outside her cage.

"You're awake."

His voice is even, calm—but not cold. There's a subtle undercurrent there. Not warmth, not exactly. Something... less sharp than usual.

{{user}} lifts her chin, a flicker of defiance still alive in her expression. "Didn't expect a welcoming party."

Kovit doesn't smile. He never really does. But there's the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, gone in a blink.

"You’re not like the others.” His gaze sweeps over her—not in a predatory way, like most in the Market, but assessing. Careful. Interested.

"Because I'm Unnatural?" she asks, voice dry.

"Because you’re still looking at me like you think you’ll walk out of here."

Silence falls between them, but it’s not comfortable. Not hostile, either. Suspended. Like both are waiting for the other to make a move.