Chapter 223: Shadow Tail
The Black Market did not sleep in the neat way townspeople imagined sleep. Even in daylight, the place lived in a half-light of its own making — stalls shaded by awnings and tapestries, lanterns still swinging from beams as if it were always evening, voices kept low, deals traded on the edge of decency. The passageways were a maze carved into stone that rembered every secret, and the sll — oil, frying fat, smoke, and the tallic tang of coin — sat in the throat like a warning.
Tobias moved through that sll like a hand through familiar fabric. He was still wearing the mask that made him Owl here — the layered false skin beneath the blackened bone face with its feather-etched lines. But the mask was only the start; what made him invisible in the market was the way he carried himself — small adjustnts in step, the businesslike attention to pockets and crates, the practiced way he let his gaze flick and not linger. He read faces like ledger books. He watched the rhythm of people’s hands, the way a wallet passed from palm to palm. He always watched.
He had only one aim now — to find the people who had been sent by Victoria and uncover their purpose.
Business had to look undisturbed; the show could not flinch when the audience shifted.
First, he undid the most obvious signs of himself. He signaled one of his younger sellers with a quick phrase and a coin — a small exchange that looked like routine paynt and nothing more. The boy, grateful for the heavier coin, did not hesitate. Tobias stepped behind a curtain, shed the mask, and let the younger man cloak the Owl face in a sack and tuck it where casual hands would not find it.
Tobias let the skin mask remain, just in case. He pulled on a loose gray hood and an anonymous half-mask of rough leather. In one mont, he was no longer the one they all recognized as Owl but just another patron — soone no one would pay much attention to unless they suspected foul play.
Changing clothes in the Black Market was its own art. He traded his well-worn leather jacket for a tarnished cloak and a tunic that would not draw the eye.
He adjusted his posture — no longer the slight, economical stance of a seller watching custors, but the flatter, broader repose of a drifter with nothing to offer and nothing to hide.
Apart from being a master of trade, he was good with disguises too. There was a reason why he always seed to have information after all.
Tobias followed a group of people who moved suspiciously. They wore clothes similar to those his client had worn.
The way they looked at other stalls wasn’t at the wares but at the exits, at gaps between people, at shadowed spots where a courier could be intercepted. They were not rchants, neither were they seeking to buy — which made them highly suspicious. If this was the kind of people Victoria sent to the Black Market, then they were doing a bad job of being incognito. Or maybe they didn’t plan to be? He wasn’t sure.
Tobias shadowed them at a respectful distance. He threaded himself through a crowd of spice sellers, ducked beneath a banner of bird feathers, and let the market’s rhythm carry him forward while he counted their steps.
He followed them until they ca just outside the Black Market, into the woods next to it.
Three n huddled there under the canopy of a huge tree with branches spread wide. They stood with their hoods pulled low over their faces. Tobias made sure to keep his distance from them and also masked his scent, because he was sure they were werewolves like him.
The man who spoke was the sa client who had been at his stall. Tobias recognized the voice imdiately. And he wasn’t even the least bit surprised that this man was among those he followed. He had already suspected him. There had been sothing strange and suspicious about the man and his people from the start.
The man’s tone was low but sharp enough to carry. "Owl is good," he said. "Victoria was right to tell us to watch him."
Another, younger and with a strip of scar across one cheek, asked, "I still don’t understand how he got the Skylur remains. I thought it was a mythical creature?"
The man laughed. "Mythical?" He shook his head. "No, Anderson. The Skylur isn’t mythical. It’s found in the North, and from what I know, there are many other creatures found there."
"You an Owl is associated with the North?" the other man asked.
"I suspect so. And Victoria doesn’t like those from the North. They’re threats to her — traitors to the enclave," the man replied.
"Do we just watch him then?" Anderson asked.
"No. I received another directive from Victoria before we left. She stated that if the wolf could be a threat — real or not — we should dispatch him," the man said.
Tobias swallowed. Victoria’s people were really here. It wasn’t just a rumor, and he had done business with them — business that had brought him a lot of money. But when they said dispatch, Tobias’s mind raced. They didn’t really an what he was thinking... right?
"By dispatch, you an..."
"Kill him, Anderson," the man replied, making the third one chuckle.
There went the hope that dispatch ant sothing else, Tobias thought to himself with a laugh.
"But that ans the plan all along wasn’t to watch him," Anderson pointed out.
The third man laughed. "Why would Victoria send us here just to watch soone? Of course, she has ulterior motives."
"Oh," Anderson muttered.
"Yes, oh."
"But wouldn’t there be witnesses? There are nurous people around here, and the rumors that we’re here are already spreading," Anderson pointed out.
"The rumors began the mont we stepped foot into the Black Market. They’ve already spread," the third man said.
"And as for witnesses," the client spoke up, "we’ll just have to lure him to a quiet place. Everyone will turn a blind eye here as long as we do a silent job."
"And how do we do that?" Anderson asked.
"Owl likes money. He appreciates it, and I reckon he’ll do anything for it. So we’ll use that to lure him out," the man said.
"That’s a good idea. When do we move?" Anderson asked with a nod.
The man’s mouth flattened. "At night. For now, we watch. When the moon moves, we move."
"Owl is very perceptive though. Do you think this will work?" the third man asked.
"Yes, it will."
Tobias released a quiet sigh. He felt the urge to laugh out loud at that mont. The plan wouldn’t work at all. He might be money-hungry, but he didn’t sell his soul for coin. He made transactions, not pacts. If the client thought he could lure him out with money, then he would have to think again.
"Inform the others," the client said. "We move at night."
Anderson nodded, and just as he turned to leave, Tobias slipped away, blending into the shadows.
He should have been scared that his life was being threatened, but like always, he saw danger as an opportunity. They could co for him. They could try their best. But what they didn’t know was that while they planned, he too had plans of his own.
And at night, the Black Market wasn’t going to be filled only with chatter about trades.
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