The lower markets were not a place. They were a descent.
Blaine walked the spiraling ramps that led from the city's surface into its guts. The neon faded first, replaced by bare bulbs that hummed and flickered. Then the bulbs faded too, replaced by something older—glowstones embedded in the walls, pulsing with the same deep rhythm he'd felt in the foreign world's stone. The air grew cooler. Damper. The crowds thinned until he was alone on the ramp, the only sound his own footsteps echoing up from below.
The city has layers most hunters never see. Voss wasn't lying.
The warmth behind his ribs pulsed once. Curious. The bloodline recognized the energy in the glowstones—faint, diluted, but connected to the same ancient source. The Architects' signature. Or something older.
He reached the bottom of the ramp and stepped into the lower markets.
It was a city beneath the city. Stalls and structures built from salvaged stone and rusted metal sprawled across a cavern that stretched further than the glowstones could reach. Merchants sold things that had no place on the surface: fragments of creatures from the foreign world, weapons forged from black stone, vials of something that glowed with the same red light as the Zone. The air smelled of oil and old blood and something electrical.
The people here were different. Not weak. Not prey. Every head he scanned showed numbers above 20. Most above 30. A few above 40. This was where the city's real hunters gathered. The ones who had survived Sector 9. The ones who knew about the gates.
Voss's employer operates down here. That means they're not just powerful. They're connected to the deeper layers.
He walked through the market, observing. No one approached him. No one blocked his path. But he felt the weight of eyes on his back. The lower markets didn't trust newcomers. They didn't trust anyone.
A stall caught his attention. The merchant was old—older than the fourth holder, maybe. His face was a map of scar tissue and his eyes were filmed with cataract white. Above his head, the scan flickered.
[Strength: ???]
Another one the system can't read. They're everywhere down here.
The merchant's stall sold stones. Not the marked stones Blaine carried—raw stones, uncarved, glowing faintly with that familiar red pulse. Fragments of the foreign world. Pieces of the Zone itself.
"You've been there." The merchant's voice was dry as dust. "The Forbidden Zone. I can smell it on you."
"I crossed it."
"Most don't." The old eyes studied him. "Most who do come back wrong. You came back whole. That's interesting."
"So I've been told."
The merchant almost smiled. "There's a man looking for you. Name's Voss. He works for someone who collects things that are interesting. People. Stones. Fragments. He'll find you eventually. He always does."
"He already did."
"Then you know." The merchant leaned forward. "The collector doesn't just want to meet you. He wants to study you. You came back from the Zone with something no one else has. Origin Memory. There are people in this city who would kill for that fragment. The collector isn't one of them. He'd rather keep you alive and learn how you did it."
The fragment. Word travels fast. Too fast. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I crossed the Zone eighty years ago. I asked for endurance. The Zone gave it to me. I've been alive longer than most civilizations. But I didn't come back whole. You did. That matters." The merchant paused. "The collector's name is Kellan. He operates from a compound beneath the eastern district. He's not evil. But he's not good either. He's curious. And curiosity without ethics is a dangerous thing."
Blaine filed the name. Kellan. Collector. Curious. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Survive. That's all any of us can do."
He left the stall and walked deeper into the market. The information settled alongside everything else he'd learned. Kellan. A collector who studied interesting things. Voss was his messenger. And now Blaine had a choice: avoid the collector and keep climbing, or walk into the compound and find out what Kellan knew about the deeper layers.
He has access to layers beneath the city. He knows about the Zone. He might know about the Architects. About the bloodlines. About what's still waiting down there.
The risk is capture. The reward is information I can't get anywhere else.
He decided.
The eastern district was easy to find. The glowstones grew dimmer and the air grew colder, and at the end of a narrow corridor carved into the cavern wall, a door waited. Metal. Reinforced. No handle on this side.
Blaine knocked.
The door opened. Voss stood on the other side, his sharp face split by that same smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I knew you'd come."
"I'm not here to join. I'm here to talk."
"Kellan prefers to talk in person. He's been expecting you." Voss stepped aside, revealing a corridor that sloped downward into darkness. "After you."
Blaine stepped through. The door closed behind him. The warmth in his chest pulsed once—not warning, not yet. But paying attention. The corridor was cold and quiet and smelled of antiseptic and stone dust. Voss led him past sealed doors, past rooms filled with equipment he didn't recognize, past holding cells that were empty but recently cleaned.
He's not just a collector. He's a researcher. He studies things. And I just walked into his laboratory.
The corridor ended at a wide chamber. At its center, a man stood with his back to the entrance, examining something on a metal table. He was older than Voss, younger than the merchant. His posture was relaxed. His hands were steady. When he turned, his eyes were the color of old amber, and they fixed on Blaine with immediate, undivided attention.
"Blaine. Thank you for coming." His voice was warm. Genuinely warm. "I've been following your progress since you entered Sector 9. The tank beast. The swarm. The Forbidden Zone. You crossed it and came back with something extraordinary. Origin Memory. Do you understand how rare that is?"
"I understand enough."
"No. You don't." Kellan smiled. It was a kind smile. That made it worse. "The last person to cross the Zone and claim a fragment took a piece of the original bloodline. He merged with it. He became something frozen. Immortal. Alone. You took something different. You took a memory of what we were before the Architects broke everything. That fragment is worth more than power. It's worth knowledge." He stepped closer. "I want to study it. I want to understand how you claimed it. And in exchange, I'll give you access to everything I know. The deeper layers. The Architects. The bloodlines. Everything."
"And if I refuse?"
Kellan's expression didn't change. "I'd prefer you didn't. But I'm not going to force you. I'm not a villain. I'm a researcher. I'll let you walk out of here if that's what you want. But you and I both know that curiosity brought you here. You want answers as much as I do."
Blaine studied him. The warmth behind his ribs was steady. Not threatened. Not yet. But watchful.
He's telling the truth about letting me leave. He's also leaving out something important. He knows more than he's saying.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Kellan's amber eyes flickered. "Perceptive. There is one thing." He gestured at the metal table behind him. On it, half-covered by a cloth, was a fragment of black stone. Engraved. Two parallel lines crossed by a third. "I found this marker years ago. I've been trying to understand what it means. I think you know."
Sol's marker. He's been following Sol's trail. But he doesn't know about Sol. He only knows the symbol.
"I know what it means. But that information isn't free."
Kellan smiled again. "Negotiation. I respect that. Very well. Let's talk terms."
Blaine didn't relax. The room was cold and quiet and full of things he couldn't see. But the fragment on the table was real. Sol's marker. A sixth stone he hadn't known existed. And if Kellan had found one, there might be more.
He's useful. But he's also dangerous. The trick is making sure I get what I need before he gets what he wants.
"I'll share what I know about the marker. But I want access to your research first. The deeper layers. The Architects. The bloodlines. Everything you've found."
"Half now. Half after you tell me about the marker."
"Deal."
Kellan extended his hand. Blaine took it. The grip was firm and dry and gave nothing away. The collector gestured toward a chair. "Sit. We have a lot to discuss."
Blaine sat. The warmth in his chest pulsed once. Watching. Waiting. Ready.
Information is a trade like any other. The key is knowing what you're giving away.
The chamber hummed around them. Somewhere deeper in the compound, something thrummed with the same ancient pulse as the glowstones. The city beneath the city. The layers beneath the layers. The answers Kellan had been digging up for years.
And now, Blaine would have access to all of it.