Dawn Walker-Chapter 129: Contract Market VII

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Time moved. At first it felt like ten minutes. Then twenty. Then the hall’s bell rang twice.

Sekhmet’s gaze remained steady. He did not fidget.

In purgatory, waiting was survival. Waiting taught patience. Waiting taught you that panic was useless, and control was everything.

Auri remained still too, unshaken by time.

Finally, footsteps approached.

The clerk returned, slightly breathless, cheeks flushed from moving quickly through corridors where other people’s greed tried to slow him down.

He bowed. "Sir," he said. "Arrangements are complete."

Sekhmet’s eyes lifted.

"Where."

The clerk gestured toward a corridor lined with darker wood and cleaner rune-carvings, the kind of corridor built for private negotiations where secrets were bought and sold in whispers.

"Private Room Seven," the clerk said. "Rune-silence applied. Two guards outside. Mira has been escorted. The twins have been escorted. They are waiting."

Auri’s posture tightened subtly. Not aggressive.

Ready.

Sekhmet stood.

"Lead the way," he said.

They moved.

The corridor felt colder than the main hall, not because of temperature, but because fewer people breathed here. Fewer eyes watched openly. But more eyes watched secretly.

They passed doors with small plaques.

Room Four.

Room Five.

Room Six.

The clerk stopped at a door marked with a simple symbol: a circle inside a square. A neutrality rune.

Two guards stood outside, armor plain but heavy, hands relaxed near weapons, eyes sharp.

The clerk held up a small token.

The guards glanced at it, then nodded. One pressed a palm to the door rune.

The rune flashed once, then faded.

The clerk stepped aside.

"Your thirty minutes begin when you enter," he said quietly. "If you require an extension, an additional fee applies."

Sekhmet did not reply. He placed one hand on the door and pushed.

The door opened smoothly.

He stepped inside.

The room was simple. A table. Four chairs. A candle burning low. Rune-lines carved into the walls that hummed faintly, sealing sound like a lid on a box.

The door closed behind him.

Sekhmet did not sit immediately.

He stood near the door for a heartbeat, letting the room settle around him. Rune-silence wrapped the walls like a lid, swallowing the distant noise of the Contract Market until only the candle’s small crackle and the faint hum of contract runes remained.

Three women sat at the table.

Mira on the left, posture straight, hands folded, eyes alert in a way that suggested she had learned to listen for danger even in quiet rooms.

Across from her, the twins.

Vera and Vela.

Same height. Same face. Same dark hair pulled back neatly. Same steady breathing.

But not the same eyes.

One watched Sekhmet like a judge watching a defendant walk into court.

The other watched him like a person counting exits in case the court caught fire.

Auri remained behind Sekhmet, half a step back, still as shadow. She did not sit either. The room was sealed from eavesdropping, but Auri treated sealed rooms the way blades treated sheaths.

Useful, but never fully trusted.

Sekhmet walked to the table and finally sat, calm and controlled, as if this was a business meeting instead of three fates waiting to be purchased.

His gaze moved first to Mira.

"Mira," he said.

She met his eyes immediately.

"Yes, sir."

He did not waste time with comfort.

"Why are you here," Sekhmet asked. "Why sell yourself in the Contract Market."

Mira’s jaw tightened very slightly, not from fear, but from irritation at the question itself. Like the answer should be obvious to anyone with eyes.

But she still replied with discipline.

"Because I want to get stronger," she said.

Her voice was steady, but the words carried weight. Not a childish dream. A decision made after seeing what weak people became in Null.

"I have talent," she continued, "but talent is not a sword if you have no whetstone. I need resources. Training. Protection from people who think a woman alone is a convenient thing to take."

She glanced down at her hands for a moment, as if seeing all the doors she had been forced to knock on and all the smiles that had turned into threats.

Then she looked up again.

"I am willing to sell my service for ten years," she said. "After that, I want to leave."

Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Leave," he repeated.

"Yes," Mira said. "I will not belong to anyone forever."

Auri’s gaze sharpened behind Sekhmet, approving of the spine in that sentence.

Sekhmet’s voice remained neutral.

"And after ten years," he asked, "what do you do."

Mira’s eyes did not flinch.

"I take revenge," she replied.

The candlelight flickered, and for a moment her face looked older than twenty-two. Not in wrinkles. In experience.

Sekhmet watched her.

Revenge was common.

Revenge was cheap.

Revenge was something the city sold daily and called it justice.

But he still asked.

"On who."

Mira’s lips pressed together. Her eyes cooled.

"There is no point in you knowing it," she said. "Not yet."

Sekhmet did not react with offense. He waited.

Mira continued, voice controlled.

"If you buy my contract," she said, "and you show me that you can be trusted, and you show me that I can become strong enough under you, then I will tell you."

She leaned forward slightly.

"Until then," she added, "it is not your burden. It is mine."

Silence returned.

Not awkward silence.

A deliberate silence.

A boundary drawn with words instead of runes.

Sekhmet studied her for a long moment.

He could have pushed.

He could have demanded.

He could have used authority like so many men here did.

But the way Mira spoke told him something more valuable than the name of an enemy.

It told him she was not desperate enough to reveal her heart for a discount.

It told him she had a goal beyond survival.

It told him she would not become a mindless tool easily.

That was useful for a manager. It was also dangerous as a puppet.

Sekhmet’s gaze flicked briefly to Auri.