The water felt cool against Dove’s fingers, although her real hand still lay on her stomach outside the space. That difference made her stop before she tried anything clever.
"If I wash here, does my body get clean?"
"Your physical body must receive the water," Sprout replied. "Mental bathing offers limited hygiene benefits."
"I hate that you made that sound like an upgrade I haven’t purchased."
She filled the small basin with healing in mind, returned to the mat, and brought it into her hands. Behind the tarp, she dabbed water onto the scrape on her palm. The sting faded first. Then the shallow broken edges drew together while she watched.
Dove stopped breathing for a moment. She turned her hand toward the hall’s distant lamp, expecting a trick of the light. The scrape had closed. She rubbed her thumb over the smooth patch and found skin where she had expected soreness.
She had wanted shampoo. Apparently, the supplier had hidden a miracle beside the toiletries.
Sprout explained that the pool refilled, and that different intent could make a drawn portion healing, calming, or strengthening. It did not offer a reliable promise for every possible injury, and Dove refused to turn one healed scrape into a medical degree. She certainly wasn’t going to pour unknown water down a child because a cheerful voice enjoyed the idea.
She returned the remaining water and basin to the space. Her palm no longer hurt, but the mat was still thin and the tarp still stopped no sound at all. Somewhere beyond it, people laughed over a card game. She could hear them clearly enough to know she was not included.
Dove tucked her tail around her legs and tried not to picture her old shower. She missed choosing the temperature without negotiating with anyone. She missed being annoyed by a slow morning instead of grateful to survive it.
Sleep came badly, in pieces interrupted by footsteps. When she finally woke for good, Sprout had a daily offer ready.
"Day Three assortment: two pairs of thick socks, two plain combs, and two empty screw-top bottles. Eighteen Favor Coins. Offer expires at the next daily refresh."
"And the soap I already own?"
"Remains yours. The offer changes. Purchased stock does not disappear, and yesterday’s selection is not automatically replaced."
That was a shop she could understand, provided she ignored the part where the currency depended on men having feelings near her. She paid eighteen from seventy-eight, leaving sixty. The bundle appeared on the space’s wooden counter, and she checked every item before bringing it out.
Today she could sell socks, combs, bottles, five soap quarters, and five cloths. Tomorrow might bring different goods. Buying an assortment did not magically refill the things she sold, and she wrote the quantities down before Sprout tried to call budgeting a romantic adventure.
It also offered a quest: complete a paid trade and close the day with a stock record. Ten coins, payable after both steps. Dove accepted because it involved work she had planned to do anyway.
"A high-threat male can accelerate your purchasing power," Sprout added. "Consider inviting one to inspect your sleeping arrangements."
"He can inspect the closed side of the curtain. It’s a very exclusive exhibit."
She put one empty bottle aside for testing the pool and left the other with the sale goods. A daily change gave people a reason to look again. The familiar items gave them a reason to return after they had thought about a price. She had no grand business theory beyond remembering how people actually shopped.
Breakfast arrived from the common kitchen in a covered bowl. Varek set it down at the chalk line as part of his round and checked that she was there.
"Do I sign something to prove I survived the night?" she asked.
"Eat before it gets cold. The bowl goes back with the next collection."
He left without looking at the display. Dove ate the eggs and canned beans, grateful for the food and annoyed by how much she wanted someone to ask whether she had slept.
Ash crossed the hall while she was wiping the counter. Men moved out of his way with practiced speed. He glanced at the new bottles, then at her face, and she could almost hear the question he had decided to save for later.
She looked away first. She had a full stomach, a plan, and sixty coins. She did not need to make that man feel anything before lunch.
Kael arrived carrying a small roll of bandaging. Silver-gray hair had come loose around his wolf ears, and fatigue sat beneath his amber eyes. He looked at the cloths with a practical interest Dove found easier to handle than suspicion.
"Can these survive boiling?" he asked.
She checked the system’s product information rather than guessing. "Cotton. Prewashed, no dye. I can give you a square to test before we agree on the rest."
"You don’t need to give me anything. Two whole cloths, if they match this one. I have a small lidded tin and sewing supplies to trade."
"That’s suspiciously close to a useful conversation. Are you sure you live here?"
His mouth almost moved into a smile, then he glanced at her bandaged palm. "How’s the hand?"
"Less dramatic. I’m trying to keep it that way."
She left the loose wrap on rather than inviting questions about a wound that had vanished overnight. The cloth covered healed skin, not a fresh injury. She hated having to make that choice, but she had seen how quickly plain soap became an accusation. A healing pool would attract far more interest than she could handle with a counter and a pencil.
Kael asked her to bring the cloths to the clinic so he could show her the tin before she agreed. It was only down the adjoining passage. She could picture the doorway from here.
Dove put two cloths in a folded piece of paper and reached for her closed sign. She wanted that tin badly enough to imagine her needle, notes, and personal things finally having a proper place.
Sprout suggested she linger with the handsome healer. Dove told it she was buying a container, then left the rest of her stock sitting where customers could see it.