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The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of haggling and folding clothes, but Lilith can’t shake the chill that ran down her spine earlier. Every time a shadow falls across her table, her shoulders tense up, only to relax when it’s just another customer or a stray cat darting by.

By six o’clock, the sun begins to dip, painting the sky in shades of orange and violet. The market starts to quiet down, vendors packing up their wares for the day.

MIRA

Uy, are you walking home alone? I can wait for you if you want.

Mira helps her fold the last of the shirts, stacking them neatly into large sacks. Lilith forces a smile, shaking her head. She doesn’t want to worry her friend, and besides, she’s walked these streets since she was a kid. She knows every corner, every shortcut.

LILITH

No, it’s okay. I live just up the hill. Besides, I need to drop by the bakery before they close. I promised Lola I’d buy pandesal for dinner.

MIRA

Suit yourself. But text me when you get home, ha?

They hug goodbye, and Lilith hoists the heavy sack onto her shoulder. It digs into her skin, but she’s used to the weight. It’s the weight of helping pay the bills, of putting food on the table.

She takes the familiar route—past the basketball court, down the narrow alleyways where laundry hangs like colorful flags between the houses. The air smells of charcoal and cooking oil, the scent of every neighborhood in Taytay.

But tonight, the noise feels too loud, and the silence feels too heavy.

She glances over her shoulder. Empty. She walks faster. The sound of her own footsteps seems to echo, but then she hears it—another set of footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic. Matching her pace.

Don’t panic, Lilith thinks. Just people going home.

She turns a sharp corner, intending to cut through a shorter path, but stops dead in her tracks.

Leaning against a rusted gate, blocking her way, is the man from the market.

He’s no longer ten feet away. He’s right there. Up close, he looks even bigger, even more intimidating. The white shirt is now rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint ink and scars that tell stories she doesn’t want to know. The scar on his eyebrow is more defined in the fading light, giving him a dangerous, roguish look.

The air between them seems to crackle. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at her, his dark eyes drinking her in like she’s something precious he’s finally found.

Lilith steps back, her hand instinctively going to her pouch, fingers wrapping around the can of pepper spray.

LILITH

Who are you? What do you want?

Her voice comes out steadier than she feels. The man pushes off the gate and takes a step forward. He moves with the grace of a predator—slow, deliberate, and unstoppable.

DRACO

(Voice low, smooth, like velvet over gravel)

You don’t need to be afraid, mahal.*

He says the endearment so naturally, so possessively, that it makes her skin prickle.

DRACO

I just wanted to introduce myself properly. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on.

Lilith grips the pepper spray tighter, ready to spray, but he moves faster than she can blink. In a split second, he’s standing inches from her, one hand pinning her against the wall beside her head, caging her in. His face is so close she can smell the expensive scent of his cologne—mixing strangely with the smell of the street.

DRACO

(Whispering)

My name is Draco. Draco Caspian. And you... you belong to me.

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