Iora moved through the slave pens with quiet purpose, her hood drawn low, hiding the sharp line of her jaw and the fire in her eyes.
Breaking away from Ryn and Ryker wasn't a good plan, but if she was sincere, it was the best. This way, if any of them got caught, the others would be able to help.
"Fuck this," she muttered under her breath as she walked faster, glancing around her suspiciously. The problem with the underbelly was how unsafe it was. She couldn't risk a surprise attack.
Around her, the air reeked of rust and sweat, the calls of traders rising like crows over a battlefield. Chains clinked with every shift of a prisoner's limbs. Barked laughter echoed. The crowd pressed in tight, a swarm of merchants, guards, and buyers, all hungry for flesh and power.
She paused at a stall lined with glowing vials, letting her gaze sweep lazily over the goods before catching the eye of a wiry woman with a patchwork scarf wrapped high around her neck.
