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The world spins around me as their voices fade to a dull roar in my ears. This can't be real. After years of servitude, of walking the razor's edge between compliance and survival, am I to be tossed aside like a common whore?
"I'm thinking permanent," the brute leers, his hot breath on my neck making me shudder. "Been looking for a pretty little thing to keep me company."
Malakh's eyes glitter with greed. "In that case, we're talking about a significant investment. Naia here is exceptionally skilled in the art of... persuasion. Her value to our operation is not insignificant."
I want to scream, to fight, to run. But years of conditioning have taught me the futility of resistance. My legs feel like lead, my throat constricted by an invisible noose.
"Name your price," the brute growls, his impatience palpable.
Malakh strokes his chin, feigning contemplation. "Let's start at, say... five hundred jeton?"
The crowd around us gasps and murmurs. It's an astronomical sum, more than most of the slaves here would fetch combined. For a moment, I dare to hope it's too steep.
But the brute merely grunts, reaching for a pouch at his belt. "Done."
My world crumbles around me as Malakh's smile widens. "Excellent! Shall we discuss the finer points of the transaction in my office?"
As they begin to move away, dragging me along like a prized trophy, I finally find my voice. "Please," I choke out, tears streaming down my face. "Don't do this. I'll work harder, I'll-"
Malakh's hand strikes out, silencing me with a stinging slap. "I said hush, pet. Your new master will have to teach you some manners, it seems."
The reality of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave. After years of barely clinging to some semblance of autonomy, I'm about to lose what little freedom I had left.
The Dark Market, as horrible as it is, has been the only home I've known for years. And now, I'm being sold to a stranger whose appetites I can only imagine with growing horror.
I wrench my arm free, adrenaline surging through my veins. Without a second thought, I bolt.
"Stop her!" Malakh's enraged voice cuts through the din of the market.
I dodge and weave through the crowd, my heart pounding in my ears. Merchants curse as I knock over their wares. Slaves gasp and shrink away. I don't care. All that matters is escape.
The market's labyrinthine layout, once a source of frustration, now becomes my ally. I duck down a narrow alley, the stench of rotting garbage assaulting my nostrils. Behind me, I hear the heavy footfalls of pursuit.
"There she is!" a gruff voice shouts.
I risk a glance over my shoulder. Two burly market guards are gaining on me, their faces twisted with anger. I push myself harder, my lungs burning.
Left, right, another left. I have no plan, no destination. Just an overwhelming need to run, to get away from the nightmare that awaits me if I'm caught.
I burst out of the alley into a wider street. Torchlight flickers, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. For a moment, I'm disoriented. Then I spot a gap between two dilapidated buildings and dash towards it.
It's a tight squeeze. Splinters dig into my skin as I force my way through. I emerge on the other side, hope flaring in my chest as I see an open stretch before me.
But that hope dies as quickly as it was born.
I skid to a halt, my heart plummeting. It's a dead end. High stone walls loom on three sides, mocking my bid for freedom. The only way out is the way I came in.
"No, no, no," I mutter, spinning around.
Too late. The gap I squeezed through is already blocked by the hulking forms of the market guards. Their eyes gleam with malicious triumph as they advance.
"Nowhere to run now, little rodan," one of them sneers, cracking his knuckles.
I back up until I feel cold stone against my spine. My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, eyes darting frantically for any possible escape.
There is none.
5
