Later that night, Youri and Six went back to the alley where they had met Barnaby the night before. The narrow passage was swallowed in shadow, its brick walls damp and cold to the touch. Out of the darkness a figure slowly appeared with both hands in his pockets and a cigarette glowing faintly between his lips. It was Barnaby, and this time there was a worn backpack hanging from his shoulder. A thin smile crept across his face as he came closer.
"Nice. You made it," he said.
He swung the backpack off his shoulder and tossed it at Youri's feet, where it landed with a dull, heavy thud. "That's the product I need moved tonight."
Youri crouched and unzipped it, then froze. There were far more packages inside than there had been the first time — neatly packed, identical, unmistakable. His stomach tightened as he looked back up at Barnaby. "How are we supposed to move all this?"
Barnaby took a slow drag from his cigarette and shrugged. "That's a you problem." He breathed out the smoke. "When you're done, meet me back at the motel. When I get my money, you get paid. Understand?"
The boys exchanged a glance, suspicion and resentment burning in both their eyes, and neither of them answered.
Barnaby's smile widened as he read their silence. "Good. Then we're all set." He turned and started back into the shadows of the alley. After a few steps he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," he said lightly. "Don't try to cheat me out of my money. Trust me when I say this — you'd wish you'd never been born."
And with that, he was gone, and the boys were alone with the heavy bag at their feet.
Youri clenched his jaw as the footsteps faded. The alley felt narrower now, as though the brick walls had ears. The flickering neon from the distant market caught the zipper of the bag and made it glint like a warning. He zipped it slowly shut and looked at Six. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. "He didn't even pretend this time."
Six crouched and lifted the bag a little, grunting under its weight, and looked up at him with a low, uneasy roar.
"Yeah," Youri muttered. "Way more than before."
They went deeper into the Cloaked Market and split up again the way Barnaby had told them to. The night was alive — too alive. Music pulsed out of hidden speakers, vendors shouted in half a dozen languages, and strangers brushed past without ever meeting their eyes. Every face felt like a threat and every shadow seemed to be following them. Youri took his corner beneath a flickering holo-sign advertising cheap cybernetic implants and leaned against the wall, forcing himself to breathe normally. One by one the buyers came — a quick glance, a short nod, money traded for a sealed white bag. No words. No names. Just transactions.
Each sale twisted his stomach tighter. Liam warned us, he thought between customers. Casey warned us. And we still did it. He looked down at his hands, and they were shaking.
Across the alley, Six was selling faster than he was — far too fast. People knew the product now. They came desperate and impatient, some of them already twitching, their eyes glassy before they had even paid. One man shoved a fistful of bills into Six's chest and snarled "Hurry up" before storming off with his bag. Youri swallowed hard.
Then, in the distance, sirens began to wail, and the sound sliced through the market like a blade. People scattered instantly. Vendors tore down their stalls and buyers vanished into hidden passages. Panic rippled down the alley as Youri's heart slammed against his ribs.
"Six!" he hissed, waving frantically.
Six looked up with wide eyes, swept the remaining bags back into the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Another siren screamed out, closer now, deeper and sharper than the police ones. Terrian Order.
"Move!" Youri shouted.
They ran. They tore through the crowd, ducking under hanging cables and vaulting over crates with their footsteps ringing off metal and stone, while searchlights swept across the rooftops above them and their white beams cut through the haze.
"Stop right there!" a distorted voice boomed somewhere behind them.
They didn't stop. Six slammed his shoulder into a rusted door, and it burst open onto a narrow maintenance corridor. They stumbled in, gasping, and Youri pulled the door shut just as boots thundered past outside. They crouched in the dark, hardly daring to breathe, while for a long moment there was nothing but the distant chaos of the market and the slowly fading sirens.
Youri pressed his forehead against the cold wall. "This is insane," he whispered. "We're going to die doing this."
Six didn't answer. He only tightened his grip on the backpack.
After several minutes the noise died away. They slipped back out carefully and took the longest, least familiar routes they could find, avoiding every open space, so that by the time they reached the Skylark their legs were burning and their nerves were shredded.
The door to room thirteen opened before they could knock. Barnaby stood there as calm as ever, a cigarette already lit. His eyes flicked to the backpack and then back to their faces. "Took you long enough."
Youri stepped forward, anger flashing through his fear. "There were sirens. Terrian patrols. You didn't say anything about that."
Barnaby chuckled and took a drag. "Of course there were. That's how you know business is good."
Six growled low in his throat.
Barnaby's smile sharpened. "Relax. You're still breathing, aren't you?" He gestured inside. "Come on. Let's see how you did."
Youri hesitated, and then he followed. It no longer felt as though he had any choice.
Barnaby counted the money with an expression that was almost pleased. "Not bad," he said. "You're learning fast."
Youri stared at him, and his voice came out quiet but steady. "You said you were like us. That you understood."
Barnaby looked up slowly, smoke curling around his face, and for a brief moment his smile faded. "I do understand," he said. "That's why I know exactly how this ends."
A chill crawled up Youri's spine.
Barnaby handed them their cut and leaned back. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be heavier."
Youri sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the money in his hands, while outside the neon buzzed on, uncaring. And somewhere deep down, he understood that they were already far past the point of turning back.