Luca woke and went straight to the bazaar.

  Before the stalls opened, the overnight scavengers came through — people who'd picked rubble outside the pylon's radius or pulled crystals from the harbor shallows at low tide. Most of what they carried was cracked or depleted, but occasionally something turned up.

  A boy — maybe twelve — sat on the ground at the northeast corner with three white crystals on a rag. Filthy hands, a scabbed cut along his forearm.

  "How much for one?" Luca asked.

  "A silver each."

  "You won't get a silver. Those are Commons and one of them's cracked." He pointed to the one on the left. "That one's worthless. Four copper for the others."

  "Six."

  "Five. And get that cut cleaned before it turns on you."

  The boy took the five copper. Luca pocketed both shards and set up his stall.

  He pulled out the first one. White, Common, warm in his palm. He triggered Appraise+.

  The shift was the same — noise dropping away, the world thinning until only the crystal's nature remained. But the read had changed. At Rank F, domain impressions came through blurry. Now the first layer hit fast and clean: Utility. Thermal. Ignition. Fire-starting skill, small, functional.

  That much he could have gotten before. But beneath it — something new. A second layer, a letter.

  F.

  The shard's proficiency rank. Not the user's — the shard's own. This crystal was sitting at the bottom, unused, undeveloped. Whatever skill it held had never been exercised by anyone.

  He'd never seen that before. At Rank F, his Appraise+ had given him domains and faint category impressions. Now it was showing him where a shard sat on the proficiency scale before anyone absorbed it. He set it down — Spirit had barely dipped — and picked up the second.

  Defense. Structural. Reinforcement. The domain came clean. And the second layer: F.

  Same rank. Both shards sitting at the floor. Shards pulled from rubble or tide pools, never held by anything that used them. That made sense — these were loose drops, crystals that had formed during the Fracture or fallen from low-tier creatures and been left in the streets.

  But if these shards were Rank F, that meant other shards might not be. A shard pulled from a dead Awakened — someone who'd been using the skill, ranking it up through practice — would it keep its proficiency? Would a Rank D shard sitting on a blanket at the bazaar look exactly the same as a Rank F to everyone except him?

  He needed to find one that wasn't F.

  A dock worker paid two copper for a read on a dash skill. A woman paid two copper to hear her shard was barely worth selling. The morning passed, and then at midday a woman he hadn't seen before set a green shard on his cloth.

  Uncommon tier. Deeper color than anything he'd read at the stall.

  "I was told you give honest reads," she said. Early twenties, weathered, the kind of guarded posture that came from being cheated before.

  "I try."

  He picked it up and the read came with more weight than Commons carried. At Rank F, Uncommons had been a blur — now the impressions were sharper.

  Combat. Kinetic. Directed. Penetrating.

  A piercing skill. Focused force into a narrow point, something that went through rather than against. A faint category whisper beneath: Wind. Velocity. And the proficiency rank — E.

  Luca kept his face still. This shard wasn't at the floor. Someone or something had used this skill before it ended up in this woman's hands — a creature in the sewer dungeon, maybe, or a dead Awakened. The skill had been exercised enough to climb out of F before it crystallized, which meant a Rank E shard would absorb differently than a Rank F. The user wouldn't start from nothing. In a market where everyone assumed all shards of the same color were equal, this one was ahead of the pack and nobody knew it except him.

  He set the shard down. The drain was noticeable — maybe forty percent of his reserves gone from the morning's reads combined.

  "It's a combat skill," he said. "Piercing type — concentrates force into a narrow strike. Think of a spear thrust, not a hammer swing." He set it back on the cloth between them. "It's good. Better than most greens I've seen."

  She studied him. "How much better are we talking?"

  "Green combat shards usually move for six to eight silver. This one's worth more to the right buyer — someone who's building around speed or precision, not just swinging heavy."

  "And where do I find that person?"

  Luca had been thinking about this since the moment the rank registered. He knew someone who ran a crew with a striker in it, someone who'd specifically asked him to bring her shards worth looking at.

  "I might know someone, just give me a day. Where can I find you?"

  "At the South barracks, ask for Nessa."

  "Two copper for the read and if I connect you with a buyer, I take a finder's fee — one silver or five percent of the sale, whichever's higher."

  Nessa looked at the green shard, then back at him. "You know where to find me." she said, and put two copper on the cloth.

  Luca closed the stall and walked to the Boatman's Rest. The arrangement with Maren was clear — she initiates — but this had a shelf life, and he wasn't going to sit on it while someone else found Nessa first.

  Ren was at the bar. He saw Luca and moved to the next stool without breaking his stride.

  "She's not here tonight," Ren said.

  "I've got something she'll want to hear."

  Ren took a sip of his drink, half-smiling into the cup. "She told me — if he shows up before I send for him, tell him tomorrow, same time. And if it's not worth hearing, I'll be annoyed."

  "It's worth hearing."

  "Then tomorrow. And don't be early — she means that."

  The next day was routine. Six stall customers, all Commons, all Rank F. He sold the fire-starter for two copper and held the reinforcement skill — it was worth more than the quick copper he'd get dumping it at the Exchange.

  At sundown he walked to the Boatman's Rest. Maren was in the back room, same table, back to the wall. Ren leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Luca sat across from her.

  "Ren says you have something," Maren said.

  "A woman came to my stall yesterday with a green combat shard. Piercing type — focused, narrow, fast. Better than what usually comes through the bazaar." He kept his voice level. "She doesn't know what she's got. I told her it was worth more to the right buyer."

  Maren's eyes flicked to Ren for half a second, then back. "How much more?"

  "Twelve silver to someone who understands what they're buying. Maybe fifteen."

  "And you're — what, brokering now?"

  "I'm connecting a seller who doesn't know her buyer with a buyer who doesn't know her seller. I take a finder's fee from one side, a reading fee from the other. Everyone comes out ahead."

  "Everyone including you."

  "That's how a service works."

  Maren turned her cup between her hands. "You're putting yourself between people, Luca. Both of them see your face. That's more exposure than a two-copper stall."

  "The seller doesn't know who she's meeting. The buyer doesn't know where the shard came from. I'm the only one with both pieces, and neither side has a reason to connect me to the other."

  "Until someone decides they'd rather cut you out."

  "Then they lose the one person who can tell them if the next shard's worth buying. And the one after that."

  Ren uncrossed his arms. "This piercing skill — you said it's fast. How fast are we talking?"

  "I can tell you what it's built to do. Narrow point, quick delivery, the kind of hit that goes through instead of against. How it actually feels in your hand?" Luca shook his head. "That's yours to find out."

  Something passed between Ren and Maren that Luca wasn't part of. Then Maren set her cup down.

  "Set it up. One of the open trading rooms at the Exchange, tomorrow afternoon. Ren handles the buy and you're not in the building."

  "Sure."

  "And if anyone asks how she found her buyer —"

  "Exchange posting, I know."

  Maren reached into her pouch and set coins on the table. "Your reading fee, two silver."

  He pocketed them without counting.

  The room settled for a moment. Then Maren leaned back in her chair and her tone shifted — still controlled, but looser, the way she sounded when she was thinking out loud rather than negotiating.

  "My crew's been running the sewer dungeon for two weeks now. Independent — we pay Iron Vow's entry fee, two silver a head, and clear what we can. First floor mostly, sometimes the second if we're feeling sharp." She paused. "We've been bringing out Common drops. Whites. The occasional green if we push deep on Floor Two. We sell them at the Exchange or the bazaar, and that's how we eat."

  "That's a thin margin."

  "It's nothing. Eight silver just to walk in the door, four of us. A good run on Floor One brings ten, maybe fifteen silver in drops between us. Bad run brings nothing and somebody's limping home." She took a sip. "We've been breaking even. Barely. But Stillwater Guard changes that"

  "It changes how fast we clear. I can feel the rooms before we enter them — where things are, how they're moving, where the walls narrow. We ran Floor One this morning in half the usual time." She set her cup down. "What it doesn't change is the drops. We come out with six, eight shards per run. All whites. We sell them for whatever we can get and most of it goes right back into entry fees and supplies. We've got no way to know which ones are worth holding onto and which ones we should dump for quick coin."

  "You want me to read them."

  "I want you to read them fresh. Not at the stall two hours later." She held his gaze. "I want you in the dungeon."

  The back room went quiet. The candle threw shadows across the table between them.

  "I don't fight," Luca said.

  "I know you don't fight. That's not what I'm asking. Dael holds the rear, Ren and I clear, and you stay behind the line. When something drops, you pick it up and tell us what we've got. That's the job."

  "And if the line breaks?"

  "Then one more body wasn't going to save us anyway." She didn't look away. "Floor One is manageable for my crew. The things down there are small and fast and they die when you hit them hard enough. But they come in numbers, and the tunnels are tight, and sometimes a room has more in it than you'd think. People have died on Floor One. Not many, but it happens."

  Luca thought about the door-watcher downstairs. Her husband had a sword and a combat shard and he still hadn't come home.

  "What's the entry for a non-combatant?"

  "Same as everyone. Two silver. Iron Vow doesn't care what you do once you're inside — they just care that you paid."

  "I need to think about it."

  "Think fast. We're running in three days, and if you're coming I need to plan around an extra body."

  "Tomorrow night I'll have an answer."

  Maren nodded. "Ren."

  Ren pushed off the wall and walked Luca to the door. Outside, the textile district was dark, the air colder than it had been a week ago. The season was turning.

  "Floor One's not that bad," Ren said as they walked. "Stay close and stay quiet, don't touch anything that's still twitching."

  "You really know how to sell it."

  Ren let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. "Maren wouldn't bring you if she thought you'd get killed. She doesn't waste people."

  "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

  "It's supposed to make you say yes." He stopped at the main road. "Straight from here."

  Luca nodded. Ren turned and disappeared into the dark.

  The next afternoon, Luca stood at a notice board in the Exchange's main hall and pretended to read trade postings while the deal happened two rooms away.

  He'd sent word to Nessa that morning through a bazaar runner — one copper. Trading room four, mid-afternoon, a buyer is interested in combat shards. Come alone.

  Ren had gone in twenty minutes ago. Nessa arrived ten minutes after that. The trading room doors closed. An Exchange clerk sat outside, available to witness the transaction.

  Luca read the same posting about grain shipments three times.

  The door opened and Nessa came out first, crossed the hall toward the exit. As she passed within ten feet of Luca he saw her expression — guarded still, but the tension in her shoulders had loosened. Her belt pouch was heavier than when she'd walked in.

  Ren came out a minute later, spoke to the clerk, and left through the front. He didn't look at Luca.

  Luca waited five minutes, then left by the back corridor.

  He found Nessa at the south barracks that evening, sitting on a low wall eating bread and salted meat.

  "Thirteen silver," she said when she saw him. "Your buyer didn't haggle and he knew what he was looking at."

  "Good. My finder's fee is one silver — five percent would be less, so the flat rate applies."

  She counted the coins into his palm. "He asked the right questions. Didn't waste my time trying to talk me down." She looked at Luca. "Where'd you find someone like that?"

  "I know people who need combat shards."

  "You know people." She finished the bread. "If I find another crystal worth selling, can I bring it to you?"

  "Two copper for the read. Same terms if I connect you."

  That night Luca lay on his bedroll and stared at the rafters while the warehouse settled around him. Someone on the ground floor was still coughing — worse now than last week.

  One silver from Nessa. Two silver from Maren. A total of three silver for holding a crystal and making two introductions. More than a week of stall work in a single deal, and neither side knew the other existed.

  The green shard stayed with him though. Rank E. Something had used that skill before it crystallized, and the proficiency had carried over. If that was true of dungeon drops — if the creatures on Floor One were exercising the skills they carried — then they weren't just mindless things dying in tunnels. They were surviving and growing. And the shards they left behind would show it.

  Which meant the dungeon wasn't sitting still either. If the creatures inside were ranking up their skills, then Floor One today wasn't the same Floor One it had been two weeks ago. The things Maren's crew had been clearing on routine runs were getting stronger whether anyone noticed or not. A room that held Rank F creatures last week might hold Rank E creatures next week, and nobody would know the difference until the hits landed harder than expected.

  Luca would know. He'd feel it the moment a shard hit his hand — not just what the skill did, but how far along it was. A Rank D drop where there used to be Rank F drops meant something had changed down there, and that kind of warning was worth more than any combat skill he didn't have.

  He thought about the door-watcher downstairs. Her husband had gone into the dungeon armed and hadn't come back. Luca wouldn't be armed. But he'd be with people who knew the tunnels, and he'd be carrying the one thing none of them had — a way to feel the dungeon changing before it caught up with them.

  Two days until the run. He'd need to figure out what to bring, what to wear, how to move in tight spaces without getting in the way. He'd never been underground longer than a basement. The sewers went deeper than that, and the things living in them didn't care that he wasn't there to fight.

  He turned toward the wall and let the cold draft settle over him. Sleep would come or it wouldn't. Either way, he'd already made the decision.