The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the marketplace in shades of gold and amber as Otome and I wove through the bustling crowd. Vendors called out their wares, voices rising over the lively chatter of customers, while children darted between stalls, their laughter echoing above the din. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, ripe fruits, and the tang of smoked meat.

Otome led the way, her steps light and purposeful. She moved with the ease of someone accustomed to navigating chaotic spaces, her sharp gaze sweeping over each stall. Yet, beneath her casual demeanor, there was a tautness in her movements—a subtle edge to her stance that hinted at a readiness for anything. Her eyes flickered toward shadowed alleyways and corners cloaked in shade, as though expecting trouble to spring forth at any moment.

I followed a few steps behind, my pace slower, more deliberate. A stall selling fruit caught my eye—a gruff-looking man arranging his wares into neat rows. I started toward it, drawn by the colorful display, but Otome’s voice stopped me.

“You’re too obvious,” she said abruptly, glancing over her shoulder at me. She tilted her head toward the produce stand, where the vendor’s gaze had fixed on us, a sharp glint of opportunity in his eyes. “The guy can tell you’re out of your element. He’s gonna upcharge you the moment you try to haggle.”

“I wasn’t planning to haggle,” I admitted, my voice tighter than I intended.

Otome sighed, setting her basket down. “You really haven’t done this before, have you?”

“No,” I replied tersely.

Her expression softened, and she gestured for me to follow her to the stall. Watching her work was like watching a seasoned performer. Her words were light, casual, even friendly, but there was an undercurrent of sharpness in her tone—a quiet authority that gave the vendor pause before he named his price.

“Afternoon,” Otome greeted the stall owner with an easy smile, her tone disarming yet confident. She picked up one of the apples, turning it over in her hand as though inspecting its worth. “Nice selection today. Freshly picked, I hope?”

The vendor, a burly man with a well-worn apron, nodded but kept a wary eye on her. “Straight from the orchard this morning,” he said. “Best in town.”

Otome let out a soft hum of approval, placing the apple back into the basket but not breaking eye contact. “I’ll take a few, then. Four Mira for half a dozen, sound fair?”

The man’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Four Mira? These are premium, miss. Five is the going rate.”

“Premium?” Otome echoed, arching a skeptical brow as she picked up another apple, this one with a faint bruise near the stem. She held it up for the vendor to see. “This one’s already past its prime. If these are ‘premium,’ I’d hate to see what you consider average.”

The vendor shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to come up with a counter. “Still, it’s good quality. Five Mira’s a fair price—”

“Maybe for someone who doesn’t know any better,” Otome interrupted, her tone light but cutting. “But I’ve seen stalls a block over selling the same apples for three Mira, no bruises included. Tell you what: four Mira, and I’ll even take this one off your hands.” She twirled the bruised apple between her fingers for emphasis, her smirk sharp enough to rival her words.

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The vendor glanced around as if checking to see if anyone else was watching. Finally, he sighed in resignation. “Fine. Four Mira it is.”

“Smart choice,” Otome said, dropping the coins into his hand with a satisfied grin. As she added the apples to my basket, she spotted a bundle of fresh herbs on the side of the stall and gave him an expectant look. “Throw these in, and we’ll call it even.”

The man hesitated again but, after a brief pause, gave a gruff nod. “Fine. But don’t make a habit of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with a wink, tucking the herbs into the basket as well.

Turning back to me, she smirked faintly. “See? Easy,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet triumph. “You just have to act like you’ve been here a hundred times before.”

I couldn’t help but marvel at how smoothly she had handled the situation. The transaction wasn’t just about getting a fair price—it was a careful balance of confidence and observation, a skill likely honed through years of being on the streets.

I nodded stiffly, my gaze drifting to the cobblestone street. I couldn’t bring myself to explain that it wasn’t just the marketplace that felt foreign to me—almost everything did. The world around me felt like a vast, intricate machine, one I only understood in fragments. The weight of that uncertainty pressed against my chest, threatening to unmoor me.

Noticing my hesitation, Otome’s smirk faded. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

I forced a nod, but she didn’t look convinced.

“Here,” she said, handing me a small tin of spices. “Hold onto this. We’ll grab a few more things and head out.”

As we moved to another stall, I noticed a subtle shift in Otome’s demeanor. Her sharp eyes lingered on the edges of the market, flitting toward the alleyways as if searching for something—or someone.

“This place reminds me of Bakhlav,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“How so?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

“Back when I didn’t have much to my name,” she said with a shrug. Her tone was casual, but her words carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored. “Spent some time in rough places, scraping by. Not the best memories, but they teach you things. Like how to spot someone trying to cheat you—or worse.”

Her words hung in the air as we reached a fishmonger’s stall. Otome scanned the selection with a critical eye, expertly picking out a bundle of dried fish. Meanwhile, I stared at the offerings, unsure of what constituted good quality. She didn’t comment on my hesitation, but the faint smirk that tugged at her lips said enough.

After another hour of collecting supplies, we finally began the walk back to the group. The marketplace had quieted, the evening crowd thinning as the vendors began packing up their stalls.

Otome adjusted her basket, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “You’re different from what I had in mind, you know.”

I blinked, her words catching me off guard. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated for a moment, as though carefully choosing her words. “I’ve thought about what my sister might be like for... well, for as long as I can remember. I always imagined someone more outgoing, someone who’d take charge and light up a room, you know?”

I lowered my gaze, my fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the basket. “Sorry to disappoint,” I murmured.

Otome stopped walking and turned to face me, her expression softening. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. It’s just… I guess I’ve spent so long building this picture in my head, I never thought about what it’d feel like to actually meet you. And honestly? You’re better than what I imagined.”

Her words struck me harder than I expected, and I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she said simply, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got this quiet strength about you. Sure, you’re reserved, but I think it just means you’re more thoughtful. You’re not what I expected, but you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be. That’s enough for me.”

I felt a warmth rise in my chest, mingling with the familiar knot of uncertainty. “Thanks,” I said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

Otome chuckled and nudged me lightly with her elbow. “Come on, let’s get these supplies back. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

As we continued down the path, I felt a subtle shift between us—a fragile but genuine connection beginning to form. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel quite so alone.