We didn't leave immediately.
Not because Daniel hesitated, but because the market itself had a way of slowing you down. It wasn't physical. It was social gravity—every stall owner looking like they could smell money and weakness, every passing mage brushing shoulders just a little too close, the constant sensation that you were walking through a place designed to separate the careless from their valuables.
My backpack was heavier now, stuffed with potion substitutes and components refined with just enough magic to actually matter. My wallet, on the other hand, had the hollow lightness of a ghost.
I was broke.
Which, honestly, was probably good for my character.
"Master Daniel," I said quietly as we moved toward the exit corridor, "let's get out of here."
"Alright," he replied without question.
Daniel always did that—accepted decisions quickly, then shifted into execution mode. It was one of the reasons I trusted him. No ego games. No "are you sure." Just a guardian doing what guardians do.
We walked with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. A pace that said we belonged.
I kept my eyes forward and my senses spread wide, the way I'd learned to do in duels. People think "awareness" is about seeing everything.
It's not.
It's about noticing what doesn't fit.
And for the last half hour, something hadn't fit.
As we reached the last stretch before the mirror-entrance, Daniel leaned in just enough for his breath to graze my ear.
"Master Abel," he whispered, "did you notice?"
"I noticed," I murmured back. "Someone's been following us for about half an hour. Waiting for us to leave. Why don't they make a move here?"
Daniel's expression didn't change, but his shoulders tightened just a fraction. "There are guards here," he said softly. "And there is oversight."
"Agatha?" I asked.
He gave the smallest nod. "The Ancient One once told me the one who oversees this place is Agatha Harkness. She doesn't remain here at all times, but her influence is constant. No one makes trouble under her watch unless they want to vanish."
Agatha Harkness.
I filed the name away in the part of my brain labeled: Do Not Provoke. Ever.
"That's too bad," I said, keeping my tone light even as my stomach tightened. "I would've liked to meet such a great witch."
I knew the second we stepped out of that "restaurant" that we weren't alone.
Not because I saw anyone. Not because Daniel said anything. Just that old, ugly instinct—like an itch between my shoulder blades—that only develops when you've been hunted enough times to stop believing in coincidence.
Daniel and I didn't rush. Rushing is what prey does, and I wasn't going to advertise weakness. We walked like we belonged in Hell's Kitchen, like we weren't carrying a backpack full of semi-legal potion substitutes and the kind of magical shopping list that screamed rob me, I'm interesting.
But the presence behind us stayed.
Two sets of footsteps that kept the same pace no matter what we did.
Subtle. Real subtle, guys.
I took us into an alley a few blocks away—narrow, dirty, the kind of forgotten urban gap that smelled like garbage, rust, and bad decisions. The sound of the city dulled here, muffled by brick walls and dumpsters. It was private enough for magic. Ugly enough that nobody would wander in without a reason.
Perfect.
I glanced up and down the alley to confirm no normal people were trapped in here with us. Then I reached into my backpack and pulled out my wand.
Dark brown. Simple. Unadorned.
Still warm in my palm, like it remembered it had finally been born for a purpose.
My first real combat test.
Let's see if you actually deserve the title "wand," I thought.
I raised it and aimed at the alley entrance.
"Notice-Me-Not."
Then, a second later, because I didn't trust New York pedestrians to have survival instincts:
"Muggle-Repelling."
White light burst from the wand tip in an invisible wave, spreading outward and settling over the alley like a thin film. It didn't feel dramatic. It felt… practical. Like pulling a curtain shut.
Almost immediately, the charms proved they were doing their job.
A guy in a hoodie approached the mouth of the alley, glanced in like he was considering cutting through, then frowned as if he'd just remembered an urgent appointment with his couch. He turned and walked away without ever stepping inside.
Another pedestrian approached two minutes later, got within a step of the entrance, paused, and then veered off with that same faintly puzzled expression, like their brain had quietly edited reality to remove "alley" from their list of options.
Perfect.
Privacy established.
I lowered my wand slightly and waited.
Daniel stood beside me, calm, hands relaxed at his sides. He wasn't casting yet, but his presence had that quiet coiled readiness of someone who could open a portal or fold a room into the Mirror Dimension in the time it took most people to blink.
The stalkers didn't keep us waiting long.
Two men stepped into the alley.
One tall and thin, the other shorter and stockier, both wearing hoods and layered clothing that screamed "I want to look mysterious." The tall one smiled first, palms open, posture loose and friendly in a way that was clearly rehearsed.
"Please don't misunderstand us," he said smoothly. "We're not malicious. We just want to communicate. Nothing more."
The shorter one nodded like a supportive sidekick. "Yes, exactly that. The exchange office in that hidden place has become half-amateur hour these days." He chuckled, like it was a harmless joke. "We saw you two buying things with… knowledge. Clearly not novices. So why not exchange magical knowledge properly? What do you think?"
Daniel didn't speak. He just watched them, expression neutral, eyes sharp. He was here as backup, yes—but also, I could feel it: he was curious about what I'd do.
Fair.
Let's give him a show.
I let my wand rest casually at my side. Not threatening. Not submissive. Just present.
"Communication," I repeated slowly. "Does that mean… discussing techniques and theory?"
Both men shook their heads quickly, still smiling. "No, no. Of course not ordinary communication."
The tall one leaned forward slightly, voice warm and persuasive. "Each kind of magic has its own characteristics. If a person is young, even with strong talent, they can't fully master it. Our communication is mutually beneficial. You share your magic with us, and we guide you with our experience. Worthwhile for you, isn't it?"
I stared at him for a long moment.
Then I laughed.
Not fake laughter. Genuine disbelief.
"You're calling robbery 'communication,'" I said, "and you're doing it with this much confidence?"
The tall one's smile didn't falter. That was impressive in its own way. "Isn't it natural? You sound young. You must have many… problems with understanding. We can help."
They can't see our faces under the hoods, I reminded myself. Good. Keep it that way.
Daniel and I had both hooded up before entering the market specifically for this reason. If these two saw Daniel's face and recognized him as the guardian of the New York Sanctum, they'd either back off or get desperate—both outcomes I'd prefer to avoid.
I let the silence hang for a beat, then spoke calmly.