The lights above the stage dimmed, drawing the audience's attention once more to the center. The announcer stepped forward in her sleek black gown, her voice echoing clearly through the ornate auction hall.
"We now begin the second round," she declared. "Objects of rare origin, singular use, and forbidden purpose await your bids. Proceed with discretion."
A low murmur spread across the crowd, the polite chatter quickly replaced by hushed anticipation. The first half had been tame—ornaments, enchanted trinkets, minor tools of value. Now, the true auction began.
From their seats in the lower gallery, Noah exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking toward a particular figure sitting several rows ahead.
Saphielle.
Or as he liked to call her—the goth mommy.
Clad in a long, black dress lined with silver filigree, Saphielle sat motionless, her gloved hands resting on her lap. She didn't glance at anyone. Didn't blink. Didn't even breathe, from what Noah could tell.
