Ivelle remained crouched beside the unconscious guard for several moments, her breathing still uneven from what she had just done. The man’s uniform lay beneath her trembling hands, heavier than she had expected, and the realization that she was actually about to wear it sent an uneasy twist through her stomach. She had imagined getting inside Blackthorn Row countless times, but in none of those imaginings had she considered how terrifying it would feel to become part of the very force guarding its entrance.
Still, she could not remain there.
With hurried hands, Ivelle removed the outer portion of the uniform and pulled it over her own clothing, adjusting the stiff fabric until it settled properly around her shoulders. She fastened the belt around her waist and checked herself several times, making certain nothing about her appearance would immediately betray her. When she finally reached for the guard’s cap, her fingers paused.
Her blonde hair was the greatest danger.
Even a single loose strand could expose her.
She gathered every strand and tucked it beneath the cap, pressing her hair down firmly before lowering the cap over her forehead. She adjusted it again and again until not even a sliver of blonde remained visible.
For a brief moment, she looked down at herself.
She looked nothing like Ivelle.
The realization brought both relief and fear.
She quickly pulled a handkerchief over the lower half of her face, concealing her features, then turned toward the unconscious guard lying several feet away.
Guilt tightened her chest.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, her eyes lingering on the man’s motionless form. "I really am."
There was no time to feel worse about it.
Ivelle rose to her feet and hurried back toward the entrance, forcing herself to keep her steps steady despite the frantic pounding of her heart.
The guard’s post was exactly where she had left it. From a distance, nothing appeared to have changed. The other guards remained occupied with their duties, watching the road, checking documents, and inspecting those entering Blackthorn Row.
Ivelle lowered her head and approached the empty position.
She had barely taken her place when one of the nearby guards turned toward her.
The man stared.
His eyes moved slowly over her uniform before settling on the handkerchief covering her face. His brows immediately drew together, and after a moment of hesitation, he stepped closer.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
Ivelle’s heart nearly stopped.
She had expected questions, but hearing one so quickly almost shattered the confidence she had painstakingly gathered. Beneath the cap, a thin layer of sweat formed along her forehead.
She forced herself not to move.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
The guard pointed toward her face.
"Why are you covering your nose?"
For one terrifying second, Ivelle’s mind went completely blank.
Then she deliberately cleared her throat.
She remembered the roughness of the guard’s voice from earlier and attempted to imitate it, lowering her tone as much as she could.
"I just encountered someone who had the flu."
The man’s expression changed immediately.
"Flu?"
"Yes."
Ivelle nodded firmly.
"He sneezed directly in front of me. I’m not taking any chances."
The guard instinctively stepped backward.
"Keep your distance."
Ivelle nearly smiled beneath the handkerchief, but she quickly suppressed it and gave him a tired nod.
"That is exactly what I intend to do."
The guard rubbed his arms uneasily, his gaze remaining suspiciously fixed on her.
"Are you certain you don’t have it?"
"I don’t know yet," Ivelle replied, deliberately lowering her voice. "That’s why I’m keeping this over my face until I’m certain."
The man’s expression tightened.
"Stay over there."
"I wasn’t planning to come closer."
He nodded quickly and returned to his position.
Only after his back was turned did Ivelle release the breath she had been holding.
It had worked.
For now.
She remained at the entrance, forcing herself to stand as though she had occupied that position every morning of her life. She watched the road carefully, copying the movements of the other guards whenever she could and memorizing the way they handled those entering Blackthorn Row.
Minutes passed slowly.
The longer she stood there, however, the more peculiar the place became.
Blackthorn Row was not chaotic.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Everything was organized.
Too organized.
People arrived carrying documents. Merchants delivered goods through designated entrances while workers checked lists and recorded their names. Carriages entered through the main gate, while others departed through a separate passage farther down the street.
There was a system for everything.
Ivelle’s eyes moved constantly as she tried to absorb every detail.
Then a magnificent carriage approached.
The sound of its wheels rolling over the stone road drew the attention of several guards, and even those who had been speaking quietly beneath the covered walkway straightened as it came closer.
Ivelle immediately recognized the difference.
This was not an ordinary visitor.
The carriage was considerably larger than the others, its polished exterior gleaming beneath the morning sunlight. Intricate metalwork decorated its dark frame, while an elegant crest had been engraved upon the carriage door. Whoever occupied it possessed enough wealth and influence to make ordinary merchants think twice before crossing them.
Ivelle’s gaze sharpened.
This was her opportunity.
She watched as several guards prepared to escort the carriage inside.
Then, before anyone could assign the task, she stepped forward.
"I’ll take this one."
The nearest guard glanced at her.
"You?"
Ivelle nodded.
"I’ve been standing here long enough."
The man studied her for a moment before shrugging.
"Fine."
His indifference almost made her laugh.
Instead, Ivelle lowered her head and approached the carriage. She positioned herself beside it, keeping her shoulders stiff and her movements controlled as she walked alongside the imposing vehicle.
Every step brought her closer to the entrance she had spent so long trying to breach.
The massive gates slowly opened.
The carriage rolled forward.
Ivelle followed.
And then she saw what lay beyond them.
Her steps nearly faltered.
She had expected darkness.
Cells.
Guards dragging prisoners through narrow corridors.
Chains.
Fear.
Instead, a completely different world unfolded before her.
A massive building stood beyond the entrance, its architecture grand enough to resemble an administrative estate rather than a place where human beings were supposedly bought and sold. Wide stone steps climbed toward enormous wooden doors, while people moved constantly through the entrance.
Workers hurried past carrying documents.
Men dressed in expensive formal clothing stood beneath the covered walkways, speaking quietly among themselves. Several individuals entered with thick ledgers tucked beneath their arms, while others emerged holding sealed papers.
There were no screams.
No chains.
No frightened captives being dragged through the corridors.
Nothing.
Ivelle’s confusion deepened.
This doesn’t look like a slave market and her heartbeat quickened.
Perhaps Edmund had been wrong.
Or perhaps the rumors were wrong.
But another possibility slowly entered her mind.
Perhaps this was precisely why Blackthorn Row had remained hidden for so long.
If the establishment wanted to conceal what happened within its walls, it would not look like a prison.
It would look like an ordinary institution.
An office.
A respectable establishment.
A place where people came and went without anyone questioning what happened behind its closed doors.
Ivelle tightened her fingers around the belt of the stolen uniform.
She had gotten inside.
Yet instead of finding answers, she had found something far more unsettling.
She had found a place that looked perfectly normal.
And somehow, that made it even more frightening.
Earlier at the entrance...
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The muffled sound of wheels rolling across the stone pavement filled the enclosed space, mingling with the faint creaking of leather and wood. The curtains swayed gently with every movement, allowing thin streaks of morning sunlight to slip through the gaps.
The man seated inside had remained silent throughout the entire journey.
One arm rested lazily against the side of the carriage while his body remained comfortably settled against the leather seat. His posture suggested boredom rather than interest, and his expression had remained almost completely indifferent to the world outside.
Nothing had managed to capture his attention.
Until something reached him.
His fingers stopped moving.
The faint amusement that had rested in his expression disappeared.
Slowly, his head lifted.
He breathed in.
Once.
Quietly.
His black eyes snapped open.
There it was again.
A scent.
Familiar.
Yet unmistakably feminine.
The man remained still for several seconds, as though he were attempting to determine whether his senses had deceived him.
They had not.
His brows lowered slightly.
Impossible.
There shouldn’t have been a female among the guards... Especially the owner of this scent.
He turned toward the carriage window.
The curtain shifted as the vehicle slowed, and through the glass, his gaze swept over the guards moving alongside the carriage.
At first, he saw nothing unusual.
Then his eyes stopped.
One of the guards was walking beside the carriage.
The uniform was correct.
The cap was correct.
Even the posture was almost convincing.
Almost.
His gaze lingered.
There was something about the way the supposed guard moved. The stiffness of the shoulders was slightly unnatural, and the handkerchief covering the lower half of the person’s face was suspicious enough on its own.
But it was the scent that truly betrayed her.
The man leaned slightly closer to the window.
His black eyes narrowed.
Only a pair of striking eyes could be seen beneath the cap.
He stared at them for several seconds.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
A smirk appeared.
"So that’s what you’re doing," he murmured.
His voice was quiet, almost amused, but there was something dangerous beneath it.
His gaze never left Ivelle.
She had gone to considerable effort to disguise herself.
She had stolen a uniform, hidden her blonde hair, altered her voice, covered her face, and even changed the way she carried herself.
Unfortunately for her, there were things a disguise could never conceal.
A face could be hidden.
A voice could be altered.
An identity could be fabricated.
But scent was far more honest.
And apparently, Ivelle had just walked directly into his territory carrying the one thing she had never considered hiding.
Her scent.
The man leaned back against his seat, his smirk deepening as the carriage continued through Blackthorn Row.
For the first time that morning, he no longer looked bored.
He looked entertained.
Very entertained.
Outside, completely unaware that she had already been discovered, Ivelle continued walking beside the carriage, her attention fixed on the imposing building ahead.
She had no idea that someone inside the carriage was watching her.
She had no idea that her carefully constructed disguise had already failed.
And most importantly, she had no idea that the moment she stepped through those gates, she had not merely entered Blackthorn Row.
She had entered his territory.