Despite the lingering taste of ash, Dex’s good humor returned. He glanced over at Jace. “Care to try your luck?”

“Let’s see if I can help,” Jace said, stepping forward with an air of quiet determination.

The cart owner’s sharp eyes followed Dex’s movements, narrowing as Jace pulled a small vial from his inventory before giving it a little shake. A single drop shimmered as it touched the pastry’s surface, soaking in and vanishing almost instantly. The change was immediate. Wisps of rich steam unfurled, carrying a scent that was warm and tantalizing. Dex took another bite, his eyes closing in delight. The flavors unfolded: layers of toasted grain and crushed nuts, with a mellow sweetness like roasted chestnuts at the edges.

“Better?” Jace asked, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Dex nodded, his expression softening as he savored the transformed pastry. “Much better.”

A scrape of boot leather against stone drew their attention. A young man approached, dressed in fine black attire with a violet sash draped over one shoulder. His entourage followed close behind, all clad in similarly glossy finery, their movements sharp and calculated. His cheeks glowed with a pampered flush, and his high, thin voice carried a note of entitlement.

“What,” he drawled, each syllable sliding into a whine, “did you put on that food?”

Dex took the bottle and held it up, letting the sun catch its faint gleam. “Flavor Saver,” he replied. He didn’t elaborate, didn’t sneer, just stated the truth as plainly as he’d name the color of the sky.

The young man’s eyes narrowed, his posture straightening as if he expected the world to bow before him. Overhead, a ruby crystal hummed softly, warming the air, while behind them the streets echoed with merchants’ calls. Unacknowledged by the arrogant stranger, the cart owner shrank a bit, shoulders folding inward. The hush that followed felt weighted, as though the scent of spice and bread might curdle into something bitter.

The goon stepped forward, his boots hitting the cobblestones with the weight of a man who liked being looked at. Thick-necked, with shoulders too broad for his ill-fitted armor, he carried a sneer that barely found room under his helm. His voice matched the clanking steel he wore—grating and harsh. “You will refer to Lord Caspen of House Incantein as Lord when you speak to him.”

Jace tilted his head slightly, sizing the man up. He didn’t look particularly quick or smart, but the way his hands hovered near the hilt of his blade suggested he was eager to be dangerous.

Caspen stepped forward, lifting a gloved hand as if the world revolved around him. His face wrinkled in disdain, his nose twitching like a cat near spoiled milk. “Travelers,” he spat the word, letting it hang in the air like an insult. “No manners. No taste.”

Behind the cart, the vendor stirred nervously, his hands working over a dishcloth that had seen better days. “It’s fine, my lord,” he stammered. “No offense taken, truly.”

Caspen rounded on him, the syrupy warmth in his voice masking sharp edges. “Silence, peasant. I’ll have your tongue if you speak again.” He leaned forward, smiling with teeth too white for the venom they hid. “I am offended on your behalf, whether you have the sense to feel it or not.”

The vendor shrank back, his shoulders curling as though trying to make himself smaller, less visible. He cast a nervous glance at Jace, a plea hidden in the quick flick of his eyes.

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Caspen’s voice turned soft, almost kind, as he addressed no one in particular, like he was performing for an audience only he could see. “These poor, defenseless peasants need someone noble to stand up for them. Someone who knows their worth. Travelers think they can disrespect anyone, even our lowest, most miserable—nay, pitiful—classes. But even our peasants,” he paused, a self-satisfied smirk curling his lips, “deserve better than any Traveler.”

The silence that followed felt sharp, cutting through the bustling noise of the Merchant Circle. Jace’s jaw tightened, and his hand drifted unconsciously toward his side, where shadows seemed to flicker faintly at his fingertips. Jace’s shoulders stiffened, the weight of Hades’ warning pressing hard against his pride.

Don't make a scene. Not my fight.

Jace's hand twitched, shadows licking faintly at his fingertips, but he forced himself to stillness. He set his hand on Dex's shoulder.

“Let’s go, guys,” he muttered, keeping his voice steady. Turning on his heel, he walked away, his friends reluctantly falling into step behind him.

Caspen sputtered, his face contorting in disbelief. “How dare you walk away from me? I am speaking to you!” The noble’s voice cracked, shrill with outrage. Jace didn’t break stride, though his muscles tensed with the effort of restraint.

Then it hit him—a ripple in the air, thick and wrong, like stepping into a room where someone had just shouted in anger. His senses screamed, warning nearly too late. The dark energy lashed out, sharp and cold, a streak of violet-black slicing through the air. Jace twisted instinctively, the attack missing him by inches and slamming into a nearby cart. Wood splintered and scattered, the merchant diving for cover with a yelp.

Jace spun, adrenaline surging through him. Before he could process the moment, shadows coiled at his fingertips, twisting into chains that erupted from the ground as he instinctively cast Chains of Oblivion for the first time. They struck Caspen across the face, leaving a red, pulsing mark that glowed faintly with the underworld’s energy. The noble staggered, his hand darting to his cheek in a futile attempt to smother the searing pain. The chains, relentless and unyielding, coiled tighter, dragging his arms down to his sides and locking him in place.

Jace froze, his breath caught in his throat as he released the chains and they faded to black smoke. He hadn’t meant to do it. The magic had come unbidden, like an instinct, a second heartbeat that acted before his mind caught up.

Caspen recovered quickly, his face twisting into a mask of fury. “Guards!” he bellowed, though the command was barely necessary. The men around him were already in motion, surging forward with deadly intent. The metallic clang of blades rang out as his entourage drew their weapons in unison, the sound slicing through the tension like a warning bell.

“You’re going to regret ever being born,” he snarled, his lips curling into a vicious sneer. Predatory eyes burned with malice, promising nothing short of destruction.

Marcus shifted, a crackle of electricity arcing between his fingers. Ell unsheathed her sword, its edge shimmering faintly with runic power. Molly didn’t move; her stance alone radiated calm confidence as the air around her rose gently. Dex raised his fists, his Shard flaring with light. Alice, eyes steady and cold, drew a small vial from her belt, ready to unleash whatever potent force it contained.

Then the air changed again, sharper this time but colder, calmer. A woman stepped into the space between them and the guards, her presence as commanding as the silence that followed. Her emerald eyes glinted with an almost hypnotic light. With a wave of her hand, the guards’ swords vanished, dissolving into motes of golden light that drifted harmlessly to the ground.

Jace blinked, his memory catching up. He recognized her—her features were striking and noble, with high cheekbones and an angular grace that spoke of an ancient lineage. Her skin, a rich bronze tone, seemed to glow with the warmth of the sun, complementing the intricate patterns of her flowing attire. Braided hair adorned with delicate golden beads framed her face, giving her a timeless quality. And something else—a subtle taper to her ears, barely noticeable but enough to suggest she might be something just a touch beyond human.

It was the same woman he had noticed before, standing with quiet authority among the Egyptians at the gate.

“That,” she said, her voice soft, and yet both firm and commanding, “is quite enough.”