The market loomed before us as the carriage finally rolled to a stop. The carriage wheels had barely stopped turning when Sam jumped down from the driver's seat. His boots hit the ground with a soft thud, and he immediately came around to the door.

  "We're here," he said unnecessarily, extending his hand to help me down. His eyes darted nervously toward Deacon, who remained seated opposite me, watching our interaction with that same calculating stare that had made my skin crawl throughout the journey.

  I accepted Sam's hand, surprising myself with how grateful I felt for his steady grip as I stepped down onto the cobblestones.

  "Thank you, Sam," I said quietly, releasing his hand once I was steady on my feet. His fingers lingered for a moment before letting go, and I could see the conflict in his eyes.

  "My turn, I suppose," Deacon announced from inside the carriage, drawing my attention back to the present moment.

  A mischievous impulse seized me, born perhaps from a desire to assert some small measure of control over the situation. "Allow me," I said with exaggerated politeness, extending my hand to Deacon just as Sam had done for me. The mockery was clear in my tone, but rather than taking offense, Deacon's eyes lit with amusement, as if my small act of defiance was merely entertaining.

  "How gracious." His grip was firm as he stepped down, but instead of releasing me once his feet touched the ground, he maintained his hold, his thumb tracing small circles against my skin. The touch made my flesh crawl, but I refused to show it. "Such manners from a demon. You continue to surprise me, Joy."

  I kept my expression neutral, refusing to show discomfort. This was a game to him, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of winning. Despite Sam's visible annoyance, I allowed Deacon to hold my hand, meeting his gaze steadily. This small battle wasn't worth fighting. Not when I needed to conserve my strength for whatever lay ahead.

  "Your hospitality during our journey has been most... illuminating." There was enough sarcasm into my tone to make it clear I was not, in fact, thanking him for anything.

  Deacon's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The pleasure was entirely mine, I assure you." His gaze swept over me once more, assessing, calculating. "I so rarely have the opportunity for such... stimulating conversation."

  "If you're quite finished." Sam’s voice was tight with barely contained frustration. "We should get inside. It's late, and Joy should rest before tomorrow." He gestured toward the main building, where several well-dressed individuals were entering through a set of ornate double doors. "The auction preparations begin early."

  The word 'auction' hung in the air between us, a stark reminder of my purpose here. No matter how civilized the conversation, no matter how much agency I pretended to have, the reality remained unchanged. I was merchandise, soon to be sold to the highest bidder.

  "Always so concerned with her welfare," Deacon remarked, finally releasing my hand. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Your... fondness for this demon has been apparent throughout our journey."

  "I'm concerned with ensuring that valuable merchandise arrives in optimal condition." Sam’s shoulders squared as if bracing for a fight. "That's my job. Something you might try taking seriously for once." The words were professional, detached, but I could hear the underlying current of anger in them.

  Deacon merely smiled, inclining his head in mock deference. "Speaking of jobs, Sam, why don't you go make sure the paperwork for our lovely Joy is in order? The auction hall will need everything properly documented before tomorrow's proceedings." He gestured toward one of the smaller buildings, where a light still burned in the window despite the late hour.

  "That can wait until morning. I'm escorting Joy to her quarters first."

  "No need." Deacon’s voice was smooth as silk but with steel beneath. "I'll ensure she's settled comfortably. You know how particular the clerks can be about their records. Best to handle it now, avoid any... complications in the morning." He flicked an invisible speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve, the gesture dismissive.

  Sam hesitated, his gaze shifting between Deacon and me. I could read the reluctance in his posture, the subtle way he positioned himself slightly closer to me.

  "Sam, it's fine. I can manage. Go do what you need to do."

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  His expression softened as he looked at me, worry evident in his eyes. He hesitated, then leaned closer, his voice dropped to a whisper meant only for me. "Be careful around him."

  I nodded slightly, acknowledging the warning though I hardly needed it. My instincts regarding Deacon had been screaming danger from the moment I met him.

  Sam straightened, his face hardening as he turned back to Deacon. "Just remember, Joy is expected to fetch a high price tomorrow. I ensured that for the entire boat ride, she arrived with no bruises or marks. I expect the same standard of care from you." There was no mistaking the threat in his words.

  Deacon's smile never wavered. "There are plenty of people with deep pockets here to bid on the demons, Samuel. They won't be worried about a couple of... accidental bruises." The implication hung in the air between them, heavy and threatening.

  Sam took a step closer to Deacon, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If she has so much as a scratch on her when I return, you'll answer to me personally. Understood?"

  For a brief moment, tension crackled between them, and I found myself holding my breath. Then Deacon's expression shifted, the predatory glint in his eyes giving way to something more controlled, more calculated.

  "Perfectly understood. Now, run along. Those forms won't file themselves." He made a shooing motion with his hand, the gesture deliberately insulting.

  Sam's jaw worked as he swallowed whatever retort had sprung to his lips. His gaze met mine one last time, conflict evident in his expression. "I won't be long."

  With visible reluctance, he turned and strode toward one of the buildings that flanked the main auction hall. I watched him go, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands remained clenched at his sides. He paused once at the door, looking back at us before disappearing inside.

  As his figure receded into the shadows, I felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the night air. Deacon's presence beside me seemed to grow more oppressive with every passing moment, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, promising violence.

  "Shall we?" Deacon's voice broke into my thoughts, his tone pleasant but with an underlying current of command that suggested refusal was not an option. He gestured toward what appeared to be a wide, fenced corridor leading to the main complex, separate from the entrance I'd seen the well-dressed visitors using earlier.

  I nodded, forcing my feet to move forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if my body itself was resisting the path ahead. The torchlight caught on my horns, casting twisted shadows on the ground before me that seemed to stretch and writhe with a life of their own.

  "You seem tense, Joy," Deacon observed as we walked, his tone conversational. "Nervous about tomorrow, perhaps? You needn't be. With your... unique attributes, you're sure to fetch a handsome price." His gaze lingered on my horns, my face, my body, in a way that made me feel stripped bare.

  "I'm not nervous. Just tired from the journey." I focused on our surroundings, cataloging details that might prove useful later. Old habits, ingrained from years of survival.

  "Of course," Deacon’s tone suggested he didn't believe me for a moment. "You've had a long day. Rest will do you good." He placed a hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward. The touch was light, almost gentlemanly, but I had to suppress a shudder nonetheless.

  I moved in the direction he indicated, acutely aware of his steps behind me. The corridor narrowed as we walked, the wooden fencing on either side closing in on us. The passage became increasingly restrictive, like a funnel, with the walls angling toward each other until there was just enough room for a single person to pass through. It reminded me of structures I'd seen used for herding livestock, designed to eliminate any choice of direction and force the animals exactly where their handlers wanted them to go.

  "Is this really necessary?" I asked, glancing back at Deacon, who now walked directly behind me, effectively blocking any retreat. The walls pressed in on either side, and the feeling of being trapped intensified with each step.

  "Standard procedure. For everyone's safety, of course." His smile didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold and watchful. "We wouldn't want any... unfortunate incidents, would we?"

  The funnel continued to narrow, forcing me to turn sideways at certain points to squeeze through. I picked up sounds ahead, soft breathing, whispered conversations, the occasional clink of metal against metal.

  The path began to slope downward, beneath the large platform I assumed was the auction block, and a sense of foreboding grew with each step. The air grew cooler, musty with the scent of damp stone. The torches were spaced further apart here, leaving pools of shadow between circles of flickering light.

  When the funnel finally opened up, I stopped abruptly, shock freezing me in place. The narrow passage had led us not to a building with rooms as I had expected, but to a dimly lit underground chamber filled with rows of metal cages. And demons. Dozens of them, some huddled in corners, others watching us with dull, resigned eyes. Males, females, varying ages and types, all bearing the distinctive horns or other features that marked their demonic heritage.

  This wasn't what I had expected. The "comfortable accommodations" Sam had mentioned, the "quarters" Deacon had referenced. I had envisioned a secure room, perhaps, with at least basic amenities. Not this.

  I turned to Deacon, confusion and the first stirrings of anger warring in my chest. "There must be some mistake. Where are the rooms you mentioned?" My voice echoed slightly in the cavernous space, causing several of the caged demons to look up, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and pity.

  Deacon's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the torchlight. "You're exactly where you should be, Joy." He gestured expansively to the cages surrounding us, his voice dropping to a silky purr. "Where you belong."