Kyle and Mika exchanged glances before slowly pulling down their hoods, revealing their faces.

The woman behind the counter studied them carefully, then glanced at the wanted posters nearby. There was no match. Just as she was about to hand over the tickets, a large, rough hand slammed down in front of them.

A towering man with a thick beard and a commanding presence grabbed the tickets meant for Mika. The ticket seller gasped in shock.

"Hey! Who do you think you are, taking tickets that aren’t yours? Give those back!"

The man cast a cold glare at her before smirking. "Everything at this pier belongs to me. Besides, we need to get to Kansas Village for supplies."

The old woman’s voice rose in defiance. "That doesn't give you the right to steal from others!"

Irritation flashed across his face. Without warning, he swung his fist and smashed the wooden ticket booth. The impact sent splinters flying, forcing the seller to step back in fear. Mika and the others instinctively moved away as well.

With the booth now broken, the brute stepped forward, grabbing the woman by the collar.

"You don’t get to question someone stronger than you," he said, his tone dripping with amusement and menace.

Despite his grip, the old woman held onto his thick arm and spat out, "If you want to cross the border, pay like everyone else!"

His fist clenched, ready to strike, but before he could, something stopped him.

A firm grip on his wrist.

He turned, startled, to find a woman with wavy hair and piercing green eyes holding him back.

"Let her go," Mika demanded, meeting his gaze head-on.

*

Back at the hotel…

"What?! So you didn’t get the tickets because you caused a scene?" Carl shouted, his frustration boiling over. "Unbelievable! You weren’t even the ones who started it! You helped, and somehow you're the ones who lost out?" He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Mika exhaled sharply, disappointment etched across her face. "There’s nothing we can do. Maybe that's just how things work around here."

"That’s not an excuse!" Carl snapped.

Azrael placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Enough, Carl. What’s done is done."

With a huff, Carl crossed his arms and looked away, muttering under his breath.

Azrael’s gaze swept over the group. "So... what now?"

From his seat on the rocking chair, Jarred spoke up. "There's only one option left. We have to find the Kent Family and apply for work."

Azrael blinked, caught off guard. "Oh?"

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Mika, lying back on the bed, turned her head toward him. "Why do you look so surprised? We already agreed—if we couldn’t get tickets, we’d have no choice but to work for the Kent Family."

He hesitated before nodding slowly. "Th-then... should we go through with it?"

Mika closed her eyes. "Yes... and if the Kent Family really is behind this, we’ll save those kids."

Azrael and Hafa exchanged a look, identical grins spreading across their faces.

*

The next day, the group set out to find the Kent Family's workplace. Tancki Valley was vast, making it inefficient for everyone to search together.

"We need to split up," Mika said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Each of us will head in a different direction."

They exchanged uncertain glances, but she continued. "We'll search the entire day to cover more ground. Once the sun sets, we'll regroup here at the hotel and share whatever information we’ve gathered."

Everyone agreed and soon went their separate ways. Since Azrael was unfamiliar with the area, he decided to stick with Hafa, who had been born and raised in Tancki Valley.

*

Azrael and Hafa walked through a quieter marketplace, far from the bustling one where they'd previously been scammed by a fortune teller. Unlike that chaotic scene, this place had fewer people, creating a stark contrast.

The silence stretched between them until Hafa finally spoke. "So... where exactly are we supposed to go?"

Azrael let out a small sigh, offering an awkward smile. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Hafa paused, considering something before his expression brightened. "Why don’t we check in with some people I know at the black market?"

Azrael raised an eyebrow, surprised. He hadn’t expected the boy to have connections in such a place. While uncertain if those contacts would be useful, doing nothing wasn’t an option. Without overthinking, he nodded and followed Hafa’s lead.

Navigating through narrow streets, they eventually arrived at a secluded area. A makeshift house, pieced together from rusted metal sheets, stood in front of them. Hafa knocked three times.

A small viewing slot slid open, revealing a pair of wary eyes.

"Hey, it's me," Hafa said with a grin.

The slot closed, and after a brief moment, the door creaked open. A burly man in a black shirt stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Hafa, long time no see. Where have you been?"

Hafa scratched the back of his head, forcing a smile. "It’s a long story."

The man grunted before his gaze shifted to Azrael. "And who’s this?"

"Oh, him? He’s with me," Hafa replied casually.

The man gave a brief nod before stepping aside. "Alright, get in."

Once inside, Azrael realized the cramped metal shack was just a front. A hidden trapdoor led downward, revealing a staircase. The burly man pulled it open, gesturing for them to descend.

Hafa went first, and Azrael followed, their footsteps echoing down the narrow steps. At the bottom, they continued along a dimly lit passage lined with torches. The further they went, the more Azrael marveled at the place.

"Wow. An underground market," he muttered, taking in the surroundings.

Hafa smirked. "Something like that."

After a minute of walking, they emerged into a massive open space. Unlike the quiet marketplace from earlier, this one was alive with activity. Merchants called out deals, people haggled over goods, and the air buzzed with conversation.

"This place is huge..." Azrael breathed, taking it all in.

"Come on, follow me," Hafa instructed, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

Azrael trailed behind, trusting the boy’s sense of direction. Every turn and corridor seemed familiar to him. Eventually, they reached a large brown tent, big enough to fit several people inside.

Without a word, Hafa stepped in, and Azrael followed. The dim interior revealed an old man standing at the front. His long white hair cascaded down his back, and his beard reached his chest.

Though his frame was thin, his presence was imposing. He wore no shirt, only a pair of worn gray shorts. Malnutrition was evident in his sunken cheeks and bony limbs.

Azrael observed him silently until the old man finally spoke.

"Welcome to the black market, Mr. Azrael... Vandey."