Chapter 22 · Rust and Relic - Chapter 22: No Mercy at Gray Market

"You're bleeding on my merchandise."

I looked up. Greta Graycrow stood in the doorway of her trading post, lamplight cutting sharp lines across her face. She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Liv, who had her hand pressed to her ribs where the climb through the fortress rubble had torn something open again.

"We need information," I said.

"Everyone needs information." Greta stepped aside, gestured us in with two fingers. "Few can pay for it."

The interior smelled like wet leather and dried blood. Furs hung from the ceiling beams. Weapons lined one wall—bronze blades, stone axes, a few iron pieces that looked like they'd been scavenged from somewhere better than this continent. A ledger sat open on the counter, inked in a script I couldn't read.

Liv moved past me, slower than usual. She wasn't hiding the limp anymore.

"Sit," Greta said, pointing at a bench.

"I'm fine."

"You're dripping on my floor. Sit, or get out."

Liv sat.

Greta pulled a clay jar from a shelf, uncorked it, and the smell of pine resin and something sharper filled the room. She set it on the counter between us. "That's sixty shell-weights. You use it, you pay."