"No," Dove said. "I expected to make one trip without somebody helping themselves. Apparently, that was ambitious."
Ash glanced at the remaining goods. "You left them here."
"I noticed that part. I was present for the decision."
Three coins registered as irritation, bringing her balance to sixty-five. She shut Sprout’s notice before the system could mistake an argument over stolen soap for a successful business meeting.
"I’m not assigning a search over this," Ash said. "Keep your stock secured. You were offered a room with a door."
"I know. You’ve mentioned it every time I’ve wanted something else."
He looked at the mat behind her counter. "Then stop expecting the rest of us to make your choice comfortable."
She had a sharp reply ready until she saw Varek waiting for the exchange to end. The hall had not fallen silent. People were still eating, laughing, and carrying things past. Her little disaster had not even earned enough interest to interrupt breakfast.
"I made the mistake," she said. "I’ll change how I keep the goods. That doesn’t mean taking them was fine."
Ash gave no answer to the last part. He told Varek to finish his round and left with him, taking his broad back and his remarkably portable bad opinion across the hall.
Dove stared at the soap paper until the men were gone. Nobody was getting dragged forward to apologize. Nobody was going to appear with her comb and explain that this had all been a misunderstanding.
She had wanted someone to say it was a rotten thing to do. Apparently, even that was above her current allowance.
"Your losses can be offset by additional male engagement," Sprout offered.
"Can you offset them by engaging yourself with a brick?"
"That action would not generate Favor Coins."
She laughed once, badly, and hated how close it came to something else. Then she brought the tin behind the tarp and checked the needle again. The trade had been real. She still owned something she had wanted an hour ago.
Her old store had locks, cameras, coworkers, and people whose whole job involved worrying about theft. Here she had a pencil and a sign that politely requested strangers stop being assholes. She had expected the old protections without noticing they were gone.
That was a mistake she could fix. It was not proof she should lie down and let somebody choose a husband for her.
Dove wrote the loss under her morning count, without inventing a sale to make the numbers look nicer. Three soap quarters, two sale cloths, two pairs of socks, one comb, and two bottles remained. The personal wash cloth and used soap stayed separate.
Then she moved the remaining stock into the space, holding each item before closing her eyes. It took several trips, but not one of them required male approval. Her breath eased a little with every empty patch on the physical counter.
"Can anybody else get onto these shelves?" she asked Sprout.
"The space is private to you. Your external body receives no protection while you’re here."
"Then keep explanations brief. I would hate to lose my pants during a staff meeting."
She returned to the stall and made a new sign showing what she had available. Goods would come out for an actual customer, then go back when she closed. A sample was useful, but she did not need her whole future arranged within grabbing distance.
The tarp still mattered. She could hide a transfer behind it, though anyone could walk around the counter while her eyes were shut. She needed a fastening for the gap and something that would make noise if moved. A real door would take more than a clever remark and a paper sign.
She kept the new needle inside its tin instead of pushing it into the blanket where she would later discover it with her ass. The thought was practical enough to make her smile. Somewhere in all this, she was still herself, a woman who could lose an argument with an Alpha and remain more concerned about sitting on a pin.
She used the two safety pins to fasten the tarp more securely around the sleeping corner. They were small improvements, barely visible from the hall, but she could sit without feeling watched from every angle.
Kael came through near midday with the empty wrap from her cloth delivery. He looked at the bare counter and the closed sign.
"I heard," he said. "I’m sorry."
She almost told him it was fine, because the words were easy and he looked tired. Instead, she put the wrap away and said, "I left things out. I won’t do that again."
"Do you need the cloths back?"
"You paid for them. The trade stays a trade."
He waited a moment, then nodded. He did not offer to buy all her remaining goods, and she was glad he hadn’t made her decide whether that would feel worse.
"I’m not looking for someone to tell me I can’t manage," she added.
"Then I won’t tell you that. I came to return the paper."
He set it down and went. It was such a small thing, giving her back something he could easily have thrown away. She folded it twice and placed it inside her tin.
That afternoon, two men stopped to read the list without buying. One asked whether she would take payment in attention. Dove told him attention was already overstocked and sent him away. It helped a little.
At closing, she checked her record against the shelves. Sprout paid ten coins for the day’s completed clinic trade and finished stock count, raising her balance to seventy-five. The reward did not replace everything, but the numbers matched, and she knew where every remaining item was.
She ate her evening meal behind the counter and returned the kitchen bowl when it was collected. Her own bowl stayed with her blankets. She could not remember the last time a day had required this many decisions about things that used to be automatic.
Before sleeping, she looked at the gap beside the counter and asked Sprout to search tomorrow’s offers for a lock.
"A suitable protective male would also secure the entrance," it replied.
Dove pulled the blanket over her knees. "Find me a lock that doesn’t think I’m part of the contents."