Jalen was glowing again.
Not in the literal sense—though sometimes, when the light caught him just right, Mira swore she saw warmth radiating from beneath his skin—but in the way he moved, the way he carried himself. Laughter clung to him now, spilling from his mouth in bright bursts, attracting people the way lanterns called moths.
And the city noticed.
It was impossible not to.
At the bakery down the street, the woman behind the counter leaned forward eagerly whenever Jalen entered, her eyes drinking in his smile like it was sunlight. Neighbors stopped him in the stairwell just to chat, hungry for a taste of his joy. Strangers on the street turned their heads as he passed, their own expressions softening as if catching a fragment of his radiance.
Mira followed in his shadow, carrying groceries or books, watching the way their eyes lingered. Some with curiosity, some with envy. Some with suspicion.
Suspicion chilled her the most.
The city was no stranger to traded emotions. Everyone bought and sold—cheap bursts of energy for long shifts, calming vials for anxious nights, little sips of pleasure to make the days bearable. But happiness of Jalen's magnitude was rare, nearly impossible.
And impossible things always drew attention.
One evening, as they returned home from the festival, Mira felt it: a presence trailing them, just out of sight. The hair on her arms prickled.
Jalen was humming, oblivious, a garland of paper lanterns draped around his neck. Mira glanced over her shoulder, catching only the flutter of a dark coat before it disappeared into the crowd.
Her pulse quickened.
When they reached their building, she hurried him inside, bolting the door behind them.
"Someone was following us," she whispered.
Jalen blinked, startled. "Following us? Mira, you worry too much."
"I'm not imagining it." She gripped his wrist. "Jalen, people are noticing. Your happiness—it's too strong. They'll start asking questions. Questions we can't answer."
He sighed, gently pulling free. "So what if they do? Can't we just enjoy this? For once, Mira, everything feels right. Don't take that from me."
The hurt in his voice silenced her. She turned away, biting her lip, unwilling to tell him the truth: that she was already hollowing out, that every smile of his came at the cost of something she no longer possessed.
But she couldn't silence the unease.
The next morning, she found a slip of parchment wedged beneath their door. No name, no sender, just a single line written in elegant, slanted script:
"Happiness always has a price. Who paid yours?"
Her blood ran cold.
She burned the parchment before Jalen could see it, watching the ink curl into ash. But the question lodged itself in her mind, relentless. Who knew? Who was watching?
Days passed, and the shadows grew longer.
Mira began to notice figures lingering at the edges of the square when Jalen laughed, their gazes sharp and calculating. Once, she caught sight of the same dark-coated figure near the marketplace, his face obscured by a hood, but his posture unmistakable—leaning forward, intent.
And then there was the woman with silver rings, who brushed too close to Jalen at the market, her fingers grazing his arm in a gesture that felt too deliberate. Jalen, oblivious, only smiled politely, but Mira saw the hunger in the woman's eyes.
It was only a matter of time before someone confronted them.
That confrontation came sooner than she expected.
On a gray afternoon, as rain slicked the cobblestones, Mira and Jalen left the apothecary with a basket of herbs. A man stepped into their path.
Tall. Severe. His coat was the color of storm clouds, his eyes dark and unyielding. He carried no vial, no sigil of trade—but his presence was weight enough.
"Your brother shines," he said, his voice low. "Too brightly."
Mira's stomach knotted. "I don't know what you mean."
The man's lips curved in a humorless smile. "Don't insult me. I've seen the Exchange's touch before. The way it strips the giver, fattens the taker. You can't hide it." His gaze sharpened. "Tell me, girl, what did you pay?"
Mira froze. Her mouth opened, but no words came.
Jalen looked between them, confused. "Mira, what's going on?"
The man ignored him. "Whatever bargain you've struck, it won't last. The Exchange always comes for its due—and it doesn't like attention. Neither do those who profit from it. You'd be wise to keep your miracle hidden."
With that, he stepped aside, vanishing into the rain as swiftly as he had appeared.
Mira's hands shook the entire way home.
Jalen tried to press her for answers, but she deflected, muttering excuses, claiming the man was mad. But she knew the truth. He had seen through her.
And if he could, others could too.
That night, as Jalen slept peacefully—smiling even in his dreams—Mira sat awake by the window, staring at the city lights.
She thought of the parchment, of the man's warning, of the Exchange's pale-eyed woman and her whispered promise: The Exchange always demands more.
Mira had already given laughter, poetry, wonder. What else remained? What else would they strip from her until she was nothing but an empty shell, a body without a soul?
And when that happened—would Jalen still smile? Or would his happiness collapse the moment she could no longer pay?
The thought hollowed her deeper than anything yet taken.
But she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that she would return to the Exchange again.
Because Jalen's laughter was all she had left.