The city changed after midnight.
Gone was the cold, indifferent face of grey streets and neon lights.In its place, something ancient breathed beneath the asphalt — older than the skyscrapers, older than the gutters they bled into.
Jace pulled the hood of his jacket low over his face as he moved through the alleys, each step crunching over shattered glass and broken syringes. The air was thick with the stink of rot and desperation.
The Red Market didn't advertise itself.It didn't have to.
If you needed it bad enough — power, revenge, bodies, blood — it found you.
The coin Zariah had given him was warm in his pocket, pulsing against his thigh like a second heartbeat, guiding him down narrower and narrower streets, past shuttered shops and abandoned cars.
Finally, he found it.Or it found him.
A rusted steel door under a crumbling overpass, no markings, no signs.Just a faint line of red light leaking from the crack at the bottom.
He hesitated — just for a second — then knocked.
A small panel slid open.
One eye, bloodshot and gleaming yellow, stared out at him.
The voice was a rasp, more animal than human.
"Coin."
Jace pulled it out and held it up between two fingers.
The eye narrowed, studying him.
Then the door creaked open.
The smell hit him first.Blood. Burning metal. Incense. Sex. Fear.
The Red Market was no place for the squeamish.
The space beyond the door was massive — a collapsed subway station repurposed into a grotesque bazaar. Flickering red lanterns dangled from exposed pipes. Stalls were set up haphazardly, selling everything from spell-forged weapons to vials of bottled emotions.
A man in a pinstriped suit hawked memories — each one a shimmering bubble he plucked from a metal tray.Across from him, a woman with a dozen silver piercings sold kisses that promised to "steal your sorrow — or your soul."
And everywhere... eyes.Hungry, desperate, dangerous eyes.
Jace pulled his hood lower and moved through the crowd, his senses sharp, the shard inside his chest humming like a live wire.
He didn't know what he was looking for yet.Only that it would find him if he stood still long enough.
A slender hand snagged his arm.
He spun, knife halfway out before he stopped himself.
It was her.
Zariah.
She was dressed differently now — gone was the leather jacket.In its place, a sheer black dress that clung to her body like smoke, every step a sin.
She smirked, not even flinching at the blade inches from her throat.
"Relax, sweetheart. You'll get plenty of chances to kill someone tonight."
She pulled him through the crowd with surprising strength, weaving through drug peddlers and soul traders like she owned the place.
Finally, they stopped before a massive set of double doors.Dark wood, carved with symbols that seemed to writhe when you looked too closely.
Two guards stood flanking the entrance — not human.Not anymore.
Their skin was stretched too tight, eyes glowing faintly.Harvesters.
Real ones.
The shard in Jace's chest pulsed violently.
Zariah turned to him, face deadly serious now.
"Listen, Jace. Inside those doors? It's not about strength. Not just. It's about currency."She tapped his chest lightly, right over where the shard sat hidden."And you've got a fortune growing inside you."
He grunted.
"Yeah? And that makes me what? A mark?"
She laughed low and wicked.
"Everyone's a mark here. Even me."
Jace stared at her for a long second.
Zariah.So dangerous, so alive.
And yet... even she looked a little nervous now.
Good.
It meant he wasn't crazy for feeling like he was about to walk into a slaughterhouse.
She pushed the doors open.
Heat and sound hit him like a fist.
The Red Court.
It was a twisted kind of auction house.And on the stage in the center, under a blood-red spotlight, someone was screaming.
They had chained a young man to an iron frame, bare-chested, arms spread wide. Sigils burned along his skin, glowing brighter with every agonized cry he made.
A woman in a crimson dress, face hidden behind a porcelain mask, addressed the crowd.
"Fresh talent! Virgin bloodline! Untouched by contract or cult!"
The crowd roared, throwing up glittering coins, amulets, cursed relics — all desperate to buy.
Jace's stomach twisted.
This wasn't just a market.It was a fucking slaughterhouse.
Zariah leaned close, lips brushing his ear.
"Welcome to the food chain, sweetheart."
Jace clenched his fists.
The shard inside him surged, a dark, electric hunger.
And he knew two things at once:
He needed allies.
And he needed to be very careful who he trusted.
Especially Zariah.
Because here?
In the Red Market?
Everyone had a price.
Even him.