Jessie did not resist.
Not because she was afraid—but because resistance would have been meaningless.
The moment the chain locked onto her collar, she felt the faint yet steady flow of energy, like a hand pressed against her nerves, reminding her—
Not now.
She followed obediently.
Her steps were deliberately slow. Her breathing steady. Her gaze lowered, shaping herself into the image of a half-beast slave who had already accepted her fate.
That kind of appearance put traffickers at ease.
"Obedient,"
the man walking ahead chuckled under his breath. "Those sell best."
Jessie didn't reply.
She was counting steps.
From the market exit to the rear passage: twenty-three steps.
Downward slope after the turn: seven steps.
The temperature dropped—she had left the main trading area.
Four guards.
Two in front, two behind.
She could tell one of them moved more lightly than the others—not from training, but from deliberate vigilance.
This one handles the button.
She tilted her head slightly, letting a strand of hair slide along her neck, using the motion to confirm the collar's position and material. The metal was cold, the edges not sharp—mass-produced.
"…This isn't a one-time sale."
She reached the conclusion internally.
If she were being sold outright, this level of escort wouldn't be necessary.
This was more like—
An intermediate transfer.
She was led into a narrow corridor. The walls were damp, the lighting sparse. Somewhere ahead came the sound of water—like underground piping.
The guards stopped at a door.
One of them reached out to open it.
At that moment, Jessie spoke softly.
"I can walk on my own."
The words weren't loud, but they were clear.
The guard froze for a split second and turned back toward her. It wasn't a mistake—just a momentary gap.
Enough.
Jessie raised her hand as if to adjust her clothing. Her fingertips brushed past the guard's waist.
Not a grab.
Just contact.
She didn't need a weapon—she needed confirmation.
Metal casing.
Internal power source offset to the left.
Pressure-activated switch, not rotational.
Good.
The door opened, and she was pushed inside.
The space was larger than she expected: a crude table, several chairs, crates stacked in the corner. The air smelled of old wood mixed with grease.
This wasn't an interrogation room.
Not a cell.
It was—
A holding point.
The guards closed the door. Two remained inside; the other two stationed themselves outside.
Jessie was ordered to sit.
She did.
The collar's energy pulsed faintly, a warning against unnecessary movement. She placed her hands on her knees, posture compliant—but her gaze settled on a forgotten coin near the edge of the table.
The rim was heavily worn. A currency that had circulated for a long time.
What did that mean?
It meant people came through here often.
And it meant—
She wasn't the first.
The corner of Jessie's mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly.
She knew Rosa and Bella wouldn't wait.
She also knew they wouldn't act recklessly.
They would come—but only at the moment least likely to draw attention.
So Jessie adjusted her breathing, letting her shoulders sag a little more, her head dip slightly.
She was buying them time.
Because for Jessie,
the real advantage had never been strength.
It was—
Making the other side believe they had already won.