The pale-eyed woman did not move at first. She simply watched Mira, her gaze steady, unblinking, like a predator waiting for its prey to step willingly into its jaws. The air inside the Exchange was dense, heavy with emotions that pulsed faintly in their glass prisons along the shelves. Each vial glimmered with a strange life of its own: gold that shimmered like dawn, scarlet that throbbed like veins, deep blue that rippled like still water disturbed by a breeze.
Mira's skin prickled as she looked at them. She had never seen emotions so pure, so concentrated. The sanctioned stalls in the open market only sold diluted batches, thin copies barely strong enough to shift a mood. Here, however, the vials seemed dangerous, volatile, as though opening them might set the room alight.
The woman behind the counter finally spoke. "Happiness," she said, her voice smooth as silk yet carrying something jagged beneath. "The rarest of all. The most coveted. And you think you can take it home with you."
Mira's throat tightened. "My brother… he's dying inside. Nothing else has worked. If I don't—"
The woman held up a pale hand, silencing her. "Everyone who comes here is desperate. That is the only reason anyone finds us. Do not waste my time with pleas. What matters is this: what are you willing to give?"
Mira hesitated. She had known there would be a price. She had imagined coin, perhaps labor, maybe even blood. But the woman's tone suggested something deeper.
"What do you mean?" she asked carefully.
The woman leaned forward. "Emotions cannot be created from nothing. They must be transferred, traded. The strongest ones—joy, love, happiness—are anchored in the essence of who you are. To give them to another, something of equal weight must be taken from you."
Mira's stomach lurched. "Taken… how?"
"Memories," the woman said simply. "Experiences that shaped you. Bonds that gave you meaning. I can harvest them, bottle them, and in return, you may carry away what you seek."
Mira staggered back a step, her chest tightening. Memories? Her entire life was stitched together by fragments of the past: her mother's lullabies, the paper birds she and Jalen once folded together, the first time he had made her laugh so hard she cried. To lose any of them was unthinkable. And yet… so was watching him waste away, day by day, until nothing of him remained.
"What kind of memory would buy happiness?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The woman considered her. Then she reached beneath the counter and lifted a vial filled with golden liquid. It shimmered with warmth, casting a glow across the cold stone walls. Mira's heart clenched at the sight of it; the glow felt like sunlight she hadn't seen in years.
"This," the woman said, "will bring your brother back to life for a time. Enough to let him breathe again. But the price must match the weight of its gift. I would take from you your first love. The memory of it. The tenderness, the longing, the moment you first knew what it was to give your heart away. That, and nothing less."
Mira's breath caught. Her first love. It was a memory she carried like a secret flame. She had been sixteen, walking with a boy named Rowan beneath the bridges that crossed the river. He had kissed her under the lantern light, and though their story had ended not long after, the memory had always been a refuge. On lonely nights, she had closed her eyes and returned to that warmth. To lose it would be like tearing a piece of her soul free.
She stared at the golden vial, at the promise it carried. Jalen's hollow eyes rose in her mind, the shadows that swallowed him whole. He was her brother. He was her family. Without him, she had nothing.
Her voice trembled as she said, "Take it."
The woman's lips curved faintly. She set the vial of happiness aside and drew out a device unlike anything Mira had seen before—a slender rod of crystal tipped with a needle of silver. She gestured to a chair at the side of the counter.
"Sit," she commanded.
Mira obeyed, her body rigid with fear. The woman placed the crystal rod against her temple. A cold sensation spread instantly, like ice burrowing through her skull. Mira gasped, clutching the chair's arms as warmth began to pour out of her—soft, golden warmth, memories unraveling like threads from a tapestry.
She saw Rowan's face, the curve of his smile, the brush of his lips against hers—and then it was gone, slipping away into the void. Tears sprang to her eyes as emptiness rushed in to fill the space it left behind. The woman's rod glowed faintly, capturing the memory, drawing it out like breath stolen from her lungs.
When it was over, Mira slumped forward, dizzy and shaking. The woman sealed a vial filled with rose-gold light—the essence of her love—then placed it carefully among the other treasures on her shelf.
"You will not recall him again," the woman said coolly. "The face, the name, the feeling. It is gone."
Mira pressed a trembling hand to her chest. There was an ache there, a hollow where something once lived. But when she tried to grasp it, to name it, her mind slid off the empty space. She couldn't remember what she had lost.
The woman placed the golden vial of happiness before her. "Your trade is complete."
Mira reached for it with shaking hands. The warmth of the glass seeped into her palms, filling her with both hope and dread.
"Remember," the woman murmured. "Every trade has consequences."
The walk home was a blur. The streets swirled around her—vendors shouting, lights flashing, footsteps echoing—but Mira felt numb, her mind a fog of half-forgotten things. The golden vial burned against her chest, hidden in her satchel, a single beacon in the darkness.
When she entered the apartment, Jalen was still on the bed, his eyes glazed. He glanced up at her without much interest, as though expecting another false promise.
"I have something," she whispered.
She pulled the vial from her satchel and held it out. The golden liquid pulsed faintly, illuminating the dim room. Jalen's eyes widened, confusion and disbelief flickering across his face.
"What is it?"
"Happiness," she said simply.
He stared at her, then at the vial, as though unable to believe it. His hands shook as he reached for it. "Mira… how?"
She pressed it into his palms. "Drink."
For a moment, he hesitated. Then, slowly, he uncorked the vial. A sweet, warm fragrance filled the air, like honey melting over sunlight. Jalen tipped it back and drank.
The effect was almost immediate. His eyes widened, his chest lifted as if a weight had been torn away. Color rushed to his cheeks, laughter burst from his throat—raw, startled laughter that filled the room like music. He clutched his chest, then Mira's hands, tears streaming down his face.
"I—I feel alive," he gasped. "Mira, it's like the world is burning with light again. I feel everything."
Mira's heart twisted. Relief surged through her, but beneath it was something else—a hollow ache, an emptiness she couldn't name. She smiled, though it felt fragile, and hugged him tightly.
For the first time in months, her brother laughed.
But in the quiet corners of her heart, Mira knew: the price of his joy had already begun to unravel her.