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“Maybe another time,” Darien muttered.

Ivy said softly, “It might be a good idea.”

“I’m fine.”

“Or,” Jack said, “you could try jerking off. Works for me when Ivy’s not in the mood.”

“What is wrong with you?” Ivy hissed in horror. “I’d prefer not to be widowed so young.”

Darien pinned Jack with a glare. “I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Twenty minutes was over quickly. Tanya shut off the chamber from the control panel behind the desk.

Darien watched through the window as the balls of light winked out. The last of the rain splashed to the floor, and Loren’s hair fell to the floating table in golden strands that immediately dulled, cheeks bleaching of color.

The buzzer sounded, indicating the chamber was off.

Darien pushed through the door, boots splashing through water, and checked Loren’s pulse.

Steady, but not strong. Same as fucking before.

He scooped her up and joined the others in the corridor. “Ivy, let’s get her changed.” Ivy pushed open the change room door and held it open for him. “We’ll bring her back to Roman’s.”

Tanner picked up on the words Darien didn’t say. “Where are you going?”

Darien faced Kylar. “Is there anyone in this city who sells Venom?”

“Sure. What do you need it for?”

Darien glanced between the faces of his family, felt Loren’s chest rise with an even breath—the people he’d sworn to protect.

“Precaution,” he said, and stepped into the change room.

Yveswich’s black market was far bigger than the Umbra Forum in Angelthene. It was also much more crowded.

And yet, despite not being able to see his face and tattoos in the deep shadows of his hood, the clusters of people in the area kept themselves at a wise distance, their reluctance to get too close making it slightly easier to traverse the vast place.

Nightfall had given the air a sharper edge, and the sodden coat of rain that had plagued the city all day had frozen nearly to hail. Drops of it plinked off tin roofs and splashed into the canals, hard enough to sting when those half-frozen beads pelted your skin.

The cold and the wet didn’t bother Darien, though, not when it gave him an excuse to wear the kind of clothes that kept his identity secret. Heads turned, and gazes pried at their trio—just him, Jack, and Kylar were here—but no one drew a connection. The only person they might’ve recognized was Ky, who felt zero need to hide his face.

Kylar led the way now, not faltering once, no matter how many times the path they were walking branched out, meandered, or stopped entirely, becoming a dead end. He always knew where to go, which stalls to cut through when met with brick or wooden walls. It would be really easy for lesser people to get lost in a place like this. Lost and never found. It made Darien think of Loren, made his gloved hands curl into tight fists as he recalled the day he’d tracked her down on the Avenue of the Scarlet Star. A girl of light, who’d known nothing of darkness.

When Kylar tipped the brim of his invisible hat to yet another merchant, Darien said, “Come here often?”

“All the damn time, Cassel,” Kylar said, throwing him an over-the-shoulder grin. He ducked under another tent and edged around the firepit crackling in the center of the shop. “This market might be neutral ground, but when night falls in this city, and you’re a member of the Hollow, places like this become your playground. It’s not technically a Gray Zone, but it might as well be with how often we come here.” He gestured to a narrow path tucked between two tin shops, one painted an ugly shade of yellow, the other a gaudy green. “This way.”

The route Kylar led them down was hardly big enough to squish through. Darien had to angle his body sideways to avoid knocking hanging lanterns off their hooks. Jack did the same behind him, taking extra care after the warning Darien had given him regarding not touching, breaking, or setting fire to anything while they were here.

The many stores and freestanding, haphazardly erected walls stopped the wind of the evening from guttering out the lanterns, but Darien could hear the gusts howling through the cobbled streets several blocks away. On the surface, the air here smelled of charcoal, drenched wood, and the perpetual brine from the ocean. The second layer revealed secrets no mortal would pick up on: blood that belonged to animals and humans, herbs and foul ingredients bottled into magic potions, and hot, bubbling tar.

Venom. They were getting close.

The path spit them out in a stretch of the market that was sheltered by a patchwork of roofs—tin and plastic and wood, the mismatch of material creating a raucous piece of music from the rain clattering down like gemstones.

Kylar waved them forward, and they continued on, past vendors promising all kinds of things—spell-protections, miracle potions, healing tonics. A dense wall of bodies was packed in a circle up ahead, watching the fights taking place in a cage very similar to the Chopping Block. The men inside were covered in blood, their faces concealed by black masks that were typically worn to stave off the cold, leaving only their eyes and mouths exposed.

“Shadows tells me you like to fight,” Kylar said with a smile, the small Darkslayer tattoo on his cheek crinkling. “Fair warning: the magic barriers on that one are the kind that incinerate. It’s exciting the first couple times, but after that it gets pretty boring. The matches don’t last long when people disintegrate after a hard enough punch. If you want a real fight, I recommend the Snake Pit.” He pointed to their right. “You’ll find it down that way.” He gave Darien another of those wide smiles, the diamond embedded in his tooth flashing. “You want to go for a round? You look like you want to kill someone.”