Fallentop’s lower districts were a maze of suspended walkways, stone terraces, and drifting platforms tethered by thick braided cables. The wind here carried the scent of metal, spices, and ozone — a strange mix that somehow worked, like the island itself refused to choose a single identity.

  Imala strode through the crowds with purpose, her braid swinging behind her like a warning flag. Jaden trailed after her, clutching a satchel to his chest as if it contained his last surviving hopes.

  It probably did.

  “Imala,” he hissed, dodging a vendor waving a tray of sizzling skewers, “I’m begging you — please tell me we’re not buying anything from the upper markets.”

  “We’re buying whatever we need,” she said without slowing.

  “That’s not an answer,” Jaden groaned.

  “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

  They crossed onto a wide circular platform where dozens of stalls were arranged in spirals. Banners snapped overhead, each painted with symbols of guilds, merchants, and families who’d been trading here for generations. The noise was overwhelming — haggling, shouting, laughter, the clatter of tools, the hum of drifting engines.

  Jaden winced as a merchant yelled directly into his ear.

  “GEMWOOD PANELS! FRESHLY CUT! NO IMPURITIES!”

  Imala didn’t even blink.

  She stopped at a stall stacked with shimmering planks of Gemwood, each one glowing faintly from within — clean, flawless, and painfully expensive.

  The merchant — a broad?shouldered woman with goggles perched on her forehead — grinned when she saw them.

  “Well, well. Haven’t seen a Luna crew in years.”

  Jaden stiffened. “We’re not— I mean— we’re just—”

  Imala cut him off. “We need six panels. Grade A. No fractures.”

  The merchant’s grin widened. “Expensive taste.”

  Jaden made a sound like a dying animal.

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  Imala ignored him. “Price?”

  “For you?” The merchant tapped her chin. “Light Wavers week. Demand’s high. Supply’s tight. Let’s say… eight hundred mewru per panel.”

  Jaden choked. “EIGHT HUND—”

  Imala placed a hand on his shoulder without looking at him. He froze instantly, like a mouse realizing the hawk had noticed.

  She leaned in slightly. “Six hundred.”

  “Eight.”

  “Five-fifty.”

  “Seven-fifty.”

  Imala’s eyes narrowed. “Six. And you throw in a wind?vein.”

  The merchant laughed. “You’re bold.”

  “I’m right.”

  A long pause.

  Then the merchant sighed. “Fine. Six hundred. And the wind?vein.”

  Jaden sagged in relief — until Imala handed over the payment.

  “That was most of our budget,” he whispered, horrified.

  “That was the easy part,” she replied.

  Jaden whimpered.

  They moved deeper into the market, where the stalls grew shadier and the prices grew worse. The air buzzed with tension — bounty hunters, opportunists, and desperate crews all brushing shoulders.

  Jaden kept his head down.

  Imala didn’t bother.

  She stopped at a narrow booth where coils of Indarem Metal gleamed like liquid silver. The merchant behind the counter was thin, sharp?eyed, and smiling too much.

  “Looking for something special?” he asked.

  “Indarem,” Imala said. “Two coils.”

  “Rare this week,” he said. “Very rare.”

  Jaden braced himself.

  “Two thousand mewru.”

  Jaden nearly fainted.

  Imala didn’t flinch. “Nine hundred.”

  The merchant laughed. “You’re funny.”

  “Not joking.”

  “Two thousand.”

  “Eight hundred.”

  “Two thousand.”

  Imala leaned forward, voice low. “You’re overstocked. I can see the crates under your tarp. You’re trying to unload before the inspectors come through tomorrow.”

  The merchant’s smile faltered.

  Jaden blinked. “How did you—”

  “Because I pay attention,” Imala said.

  The merchant scowled. “Fine. Twelve hundred.”

  Imala hesitated — the first time she had all day.

  Jaden’s eyes widened. “Imala…?”

  She exhaled through her nose. “We need it.”

  The merchant’s grin returned.

  Imala handed over the money.

  Jaden clutched his satchel like it was bleeding. “That was a heavy hit.”

  “Better than the Raven falling apart mid?flight.”

  “I disagree.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I’m dying.”

  “You’re dramatic.”

  They stepped out of the market and onto a quieter terrace overlooking the lower districts. The wind swept past them, carrying distant cheers from the training arenas.

  Jaden leaned against the railing, exhausted. “Do you think the others are doing okay?”

  Imala adjusted the coils of metal strapped to her back. “Hokori can handle himself.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Imala didn’t respond, but her eyes drifted toward the towering spires in the distance — the Twin Champion Towers glowing under the shifting rings of light.

  Something in her expression tightened.

  “Fallentop remembers them,” she said quietly. “All of them.”

  Jaden swallowed. “And that’s bad?”

  “It depends,” she said. “On whether Fallentop forgives.”

  The wind shifted, colder now.

  Jaden shivered.

  Imala didn’t.

  She turned toward the path leading back to the docks. “Come on. We still need pulser brickets.”

  Jaden groaned. “I hate this island.”

  Imala smirked. “You’ll live.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  He sighed dramatically and followed her.

  The wind carried their voices away.