"...the crystallization timing is still wrong..." Naaza's voice, quiet but clear.
"Maybe the resin ratio..." The girl replied, thoughtful.
They were discussing something technical. A formula spread on the counter between them—parchment with cramped handwriting filling every line.
My feet had stopped moving. I stood frozen just inside the door, the bell's chime still fading.
Street. Dungeon. Pantry. Now here.
I keep bumping into her.
The thought came with confusion. Frustration. Something that made my chest tight.
What the hell is this? Destiny or something?
My brain rejected that immediately. Nah. Too stupid. Too convenient. Life didn't work like stories. Fate wasn't a thing.
It's just Orario. City's big but not infinite. Adventurers cross paths. Especially ones who work similar routes, similar floors, similar problems.
Coincidence stacking. Probability playing out.
That's all.
Don't believe in destiny bullshit.
But even as I thought it, part of me couldn't quite dismiss the pattern. Four encounters. Four times in how many days?
Both women turned to look at me.
Naaza's drowsy eyes sharpened with interest. Professional assessment. Potential transaction.
The grey-haired girl's gaze met mine for half a second. Something flickered there—recognition. Brief. Controlled. Then her expression settled back to neutral.
She remembers. Pantry. Blue Latheon Wings.
My throat felt tight. Don't panic. Don't show anything. Be normal. Professional. This is just business.
I forced my feet to move. Three steps to the counter. Kept my posture relaxed, my expression blank.
"I have herbs to sell," I said. My voice came out flat. Good. No tremor. No hesitation.
Naaza straightened slightly, the drowsy affect never quite leaving her face. "Show me."
I set the pouch on the counter. The wood was scarred from years of transactions—knife marks, burn stains, water damage.
Naaza opened the pouch without ceremony. Her fingers moved through the contents with clinical precision—touching, testing, assessing by instinct. Each motion economical. Practiced.
The grey-haired girl stood to the side. Silent. I could feel her presence like pressure against my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes on Naaza.
Couldn't afford to acknowledge the coincidence. Couldn't afford to make this weird.
Naaza glanced up briefly. Not at me. At her.
It was subtle. Just a moment of eye contact. Something passing between them too quick to read. The grey-haired girl's expression didn't change. But she stayed silent.
A signal.
My instincts prickled. What did that mean? Stay out of this? Don't interfere?
Naaza returned her attention to the herbs. Set them down carefully. Closed the pouch with deliberate slowness.
"Five hundred vals."
The number landed between us like a stone in still water.
That's low.
I knew it without needing to calculate. These herbs were worth more—not dramatically more, but enough that five hundred was an insult wrapped in transaction language.
But also expected.
This was the cost. The price of safety. Of no questions.
Sometimes you paid in valis.
"...Fine."
The word came out steady. Accepting. Because what else could I do?
Naaza counted out coins with clinical precision. She slid them across the counter.
I pocketed them without checking. Added to the handler's payment earlier—forty-two hundred vals total. Enough for a week. Maybe two if I was careful.
The transaction should have been over. I should have left. But I needed one more thing.
"I need potions," I said. "Basic healing."
Naaza's eyes opened a fraction wider. "How many?"
"Three."
She paused. Her fingers drummed once on the counter. I watched her calculate. Watched her decide how far she could push.
"Three thousand vals."
What?
My jaw tightened before I could stop it. Heat flashed across my face. "That's—"
"Quality ingredients," Naaza interrupted, her tone unchanged. "Fresh. Properly prepared. You want cheap, go elsewhere."
Trap.
She knows I can't go elsewhere. That's why I'm here. That's why she can push.
"Two thousand eight hundred vals," she continued, as if making a concession. "Final offer."
My mind raced. That was—that was nearly everything I had. Three potions for almost my entire day's earnings?
She's pushing way too hard.
At this rate, I'll be working for free. Actually, worse than free. I'll owe HER money just for the privilege of getting robbed.
"Naaza."
The grey-haired girl's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. Calm. Flat.
Both Naaza and I turned to look at her.
She stood there, expression unchanged, but something in her posture had shifted. More present. More willing to occupy space.
"Eighteen hundred vals is standard for three basic potions," she said.
The words landed like a gavel.
Silence.
The air felt different suddenly. Heavier. Sharper. Tension I hadn't noticed before suddenly visible, pressing against my skin.
Naaza's eyes narrowed. For three seconds—I counted them—she stared at the grey-haired girl.
Then Naaza's gaze slid back to me.
"...Fine." The word came out clipped. Hard. "Eighteen hundred vals."
I counted out the coins carefully. My hands were steady despite the confusion churning in my chest. Each coin clinked softly as I placed it on the counter.
Naaza took them. Turned sharply. Pulled three vials from a shelf with movements just precise enough to communicate displeasure. Set them on the counter with more force than necessary—not breaking them, but close.
Glass. Cool against my palms. The liquid inside caught the light, glowing faintly amber.
I took them carefully. Secured them in my pack one at a time, making sure they wouldn't break.
"...Thank you."
The words came out before I could stop them. Not sure who I was thanking. Naaza for the transaction? The girl for intervening? Both?
The grey-haired girl nodded once. Small. Brief. Acknowledgment without elaboration.
I turned and left before I could make this more complicated than it already was.
The bell chimed behind me.
Evening air hit like cold water.
The temperature had dropped while I'd been inside. The sun hung low now, painting everything in copper and gold. Almost beautiful. Almost intentional.
I walked.
Slow. My legs felt like lead. The full day of searching, navigating, walking on stone without rest—it all crashed down at once.
Despite that, a relief.
Because I had potions. Three vials. Cool weight in my pack.
I had a supplier route. Questionable ethics, but safe. No questions. No red flags.
And she was there.
The thought kept circling back no matter how hard I tried to push it away.
Fourth time.
She's connected to Naaza. Connected to Miach Familia.
I glanced back once. The shop was behind me now, small and worn and easy to miss. The faded sign barely visible in the evening light.
Tomorrow. Dungeon again. More herbs. More stones. More slow accumulation toward... what? Survival? Strength? Some nebulous future where I was more than just a nobody with ghost falna and borrowed knowledge?
At least I still have money left. Barely. That counts as a win.
I kept walking.
But underneath all of that, a thought. Quieter, more persistent—
She helped me.
Didn't have to. Could have stayed silent like Naaza signaled. Could have let me get robbed blind and walked away clean.
But she didn't.
I didn't know what to do with that.
Didn't know if it meant anything or if I was just desperate enough to see meaning in random noise.
The sun touched the horizon. Light bleeding away. Evening settling into the spaces between buildings.
Tomorrow. I'd think about it tomorrow.
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