CHAPTER 13: BLACK MARKET

But sometimes, Riley wondered—honestly, which version of this job did he prefer?

The part where he catered to entitled, hot-headed leaders who could crush him under one claw if anyone insisted on them wearing the ceremonial robe? Or this version, where he mingled with criminals who would cheerfully stab him over pocket change?

Was there even a difference?

Apparently not.

Danger and the constant threat of death seemed integral to his job description, no matter which magical creatures he was dealing with. And yet, here he was. Still alive. Still human. Still pretending he knew what he was doing.

That should count for something, right?

And it better do because it wasn’t easy to sit here with his entire body rattling with the shaking of the caravan. Each time he had to visit, the road conditions seemed to worsen to the point where maybe it would be much easier to walk.

And if they didn’t have to pretend to be selling goods, he probably would’ve just walked it all out. Maybe he was only thankful that the sigil didn’t think of the rattling cart and his painful behind as attacks, or he likely wouldn’t be functional.

It should be fine, though. Just a little bit more and they’d be able to reach that well-hidden depot.

Riley couldn’t help it and thought about Kael. While getting there was usually his main concern, today, he was more about keeping the volcano relatively dormant.

But just how easy was it, with Kael sitting silent beside him, already radiating restrained menace before they had even arrived?

An instant sauna, the body heat coming from the annoyed dragon was suffocating Riley, so he closed his eyes and his notebook. It would be pointless to review anything now.

"Please, stop it," he said flatly.

Kael opened his eyes and repeated. "Stop what?"

"Radiating murder, or whatever you want to call that," Riley replied without looking up. "If you keep glaring at everything that breathes, someone’s going to panic. And then all of this..." He waved vaguely toward the caravan, the road, the plan scribbled in his notebook. "—goes straight to trash. Tone it down."

Kael’s jaw tightened. "You care too much about procedure."

Riley shot him a look. "And you care too little about finesse. Smile. Or something. Even a constipated look would work. Just stop that."

Kael didn’t smile. He thought, ’Ever seen a constipated dragon?’ He ignored the jab and simply adjusted his sitting position.

They arrived at dusk. To the uninitiated, the depot was cleverly disguised as a run-down warehouse, protected by wards that only opened to those who knew the right path. Riley had learned that lesson the hard way.

He still remembered his first assignment here. He’d arrived alone in a Ministry car, confident and clueless. He’d driven in circles for hours before realizing Wyrmfall’s wards actively repelled vehicles. Another time, he’d tried sending a drone. It got fried before it even crossed the perimeter. In the same way, any electronic communication device was rendered useless.

And then there was the time he’d walked right up to the gates with his best memorized phrase in Draksil dialect—only to mangle the accent so badly the guards burst out laughing and turned him away on principle.

Humiliating? Absolutely.

But he kept on.

He’d spent nights writing words and images in his notebook, practicing accents in front of a hazy mirror, and mapping the correct routes. On weekends, he’d continue mastering what to wear, what to say, when to shut up, and when to speak.

Three years later, here he was. Excited and wary at the same time. "Here goes."

The guards stationed at the depot’s entrance didn’t bother to look at Riley and Kael. Their disguise was effective, and their behavior was perfect to a T. In plain sight, captives of different species wore enchanted collars and chains. Unresponsive and stationary. They’ve probably been locked up for quite some time. Nevertheless, he whispered to the nearest cage, "Hang in there."

Catching up with Kael, he leaned closer and murmured through his teeth: "If you combust now, we won’t even get inside. Patience, good Sir, patience."

Kael exhaled slowly and tried hard to contain his anger.

Riley adjusted his hood, wrapped a scrap of cloth around his wrist in the subtle signal he’d learned to mark himself as "in the know," and stepped into the crowd.

Here, being human was an advantage. No one paid attention to him. He was as if invisible.

Perfect.

Riley left the dragon in one corner to cool off and just observe. He was too big to remain unnoticed.

Then, Riley surveyed each stall, talked with vendors, and pretended to compare selling prices. Whenever possible, he recorded on his phone incriminating evidence. The rest he wrote in his valuable notebook.

He feigned ignorance as one vendor tried to overcharge him for a crate of mana-bonded shackles.

"Oh sure," he said brightly, scribbling a note. "Five times the usual price? Must be a steal. Or you’re stealing. Either way."

The vendor got spooked and quickly dropped the price.

Kael watched from a distance and patiently waited for Riley to come back with information on illegal trades, routes, schedules, and masterminds.

On their way out, Kael asked, "Why does everyone tell you things?"

Riley flashed him a faint grin. "Because nobody thinks the mule has teeth."

"And to be fair, they don’t really tell me things. I just know how to listen."

And well, observe. One would be surprised at the amount of information you could get just by observing their habits.

By the time they left the secret hideaway, Riley’s notebook was full of traders’ names and hangouts, trade routes, selling prices, pick-up and delivery schedules. A few disgruntled merchants even shared gossip on someone else’s illegal activities, mainly kidnapping and trafficking.

Which was really something, because there has been an unusual amount of sirens being trafficked.

What happened to displace all these beings? Or are they being targeted indiscriminately?

He’s got a lot of questions, but it’s not like he’d get answers by asking. For things like this, he’d need his boss’s face.