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𓇢𓆸 𓆤 𖧧 𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𖧧 𓍊𓋼 𔓘
𝔸𝔽𝕋𝔼ℝ a while, when Vign left the house, he rendezvoused with Oona amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy markets in the Row. They navigated through the crowded streets, the energy of the marketplace swirling around them. "It doesn't take a genius. Couriers leave packages around town in places marked with chalk. Chalk tells you where to take them. Simple as that," Oona explained to Vign, shedding light on the clandestine courier operations. Vign, ever curious, posed his next question, "What's in the packages?"
"Lixir. Contraband. Best not to ask. Look, they'll start off on a day route. Swap it out as quick as you can, though. Nights go faster," Oona replied, her voice carrying a pragmatic tone that hinted at the nuances of their underworld dealings.
"Why?" Vign inquired, seeking to understand the intricacies of the operation. Oona shared her insights, "You can fly without being spotted. Daylighters have to leg it."
Vign absorbed the information, contemplating the strategic advantages of night deliveries. However, his curiosity persisted, leading him to ask another question, "What happens if you're spotted flying?"
Oona's expression shifted to a more serious demeanor as she considered the question. The ambient noise of the marketplace seemed to fade for a moment as she replied, "Depends on who spots you. Authorities might be trouble, but the real danger is the eyes you don't see – those of rival factions or those who'd love to see one less courier in the Row. Stealth is our ally, Vign, they will order your wings clipped if they catch up with you, remember that."
"What do you need, Bol?" Oona asked as the male fae, who typically stood next to Dahlia, approached them. "Just the new one. Dahlia wants him," Bol responded, glancing at Vign without meeting Oona's gaze. In an instant, Vign found himself at the headquarters of the Black Ravens, his hands bound and Bol gripping his wings. They stood on the balcony's edge, the same spot where Dahlia conducted meetings.
"What was the first rule I gave you?" Dahlia asked Vign with a stern expression.
"I didn't talk to the police," Vign replied, his voice unwavering.
Dahlia's eyes remained cold as she continued, "Well, that's just patently untrue, isn't it, Bolero?" Bolero spoke up, "I saw you and the inspector, the handsome one, on the Row, right out in the open, plain as day."
"He's nobody. We used to be friends," Vign interjected, attempting to explain, but Dahlia cut through his words. "Friending them isn't better than talking to them, lass."
