At the same time, four pairs of eyes fixed on the box. They bent down carefully, inhaled deeply, their faces awash with pure enchantment.
"Magnificent." The gloved woman murmured, her eyes closed as if lost in ecstasy. "This aroma..."
"We'll take as much as you have." Another customer cut in. "Every last bit."
A smug smile suddenly curled his lips as he looked down at them. "Unfortunately, as you know, Torbica is rare. If you want the whole supply, the cost will go up."
"What?!" The silver-haired man scowled.
"...This year's yield is a bit scarcer." I blurted out, surprising even myself with such boldness. Perhaps it was the dizzying anticipation of soon clutching sacks bursting with gold. "...We have to be fair to every buyer."
Amir suddenly turned to me, his eyes wide in disbelief, yet I glimpsed a rare flicker of approval beneath it.
Never looking away from the blossoms, the gloved woman demanded, all uncertainty gone from her voice. "How much for one bloom?"
"Five hundred rubles." Amir declared. "Per flower."
I stiffened, barely concealing my disbelief. Five hundred?! That was outrageous!
"Enough! This is daylight robbery, Amir!" A customer slammed his fist down, voice sharp with anger. The others quickly chimed in. "Damn right! Who do you think you are?!"
Yet Amir remained unfazed, merely releasing a weary sigh, as if this haggling routine was all too familiar. "Four hundred fifty rubles. Final offer."
"Unacceptable..." The gray-haired buyer muttered, though his eyes remained glued to the blossoms with desperate longing.
And then, he didn't answer. Didn't even spare me a glance. His forehead wrinkled like crumpled paper, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. With deliberate motion, he gathered the merchandise, cradling it possessively before turning away. His steps were measured, utterly assured, as if the money meant nothing. As if I meant nothing.
What the hell?! My pulse thrashed as I watched his retreating figure. Heat flooded my face, my throat parched with panic. What's he doing?! That's my LIFE walking away! Maybe he didn't need those rubles, but I-God! My last hope was slipping through my fingers!
Scrambling after him, I clutched his sleeve, my fingers tight with desperation. "You can't just leave!" My voice cracked, raw with pleading. "We had a deal!"
Yet he remained infuriatingly calm, merely glancing over his shoulder while clutching what should have been my bounty. "Must you always be so impulsive?"
His words hit me like ice water, freezing me in place. Impulsive? Was he serious? I hadn't crawled through hell just to walk away with nothing! That money meant survival, two hundred rubles, even one hundred, would be enough!
Just then, the silver-haired man's voice sliced through the tension. "Equal shares for all four."
Turning with deliberate grace, he regarded them with that trademark smirk. His response dripped with detached amusement. "A pleasure doing business."
With deliberate care, he laid out the merchandise and separated the blossoms into four identical parcels, each lovingly swaddled in thin fabric. I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me, it felt surreal.
"Payment." The woman extended gloved hands heavy with coin-filled pouches.
He counted swiftly, then nodded toward me. Stepping forward hesitantly, I handed each carefully wrapped Torbica bundle to the waiting customers, my hands trembling slightly against the brown paper. Yet despite my unease, a quiet relief blossomed in my chest as the payment changed hands.
When the last exchange was made, the silver-haired man sprang to his feet, clutching his purchase like sacred treasure. "Until next time." He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.
"Of course." He gave a slight nod. "We always value our most loyal patrons."
The four figures drifted from the shop, their black cloaks fluttering like decaying leaves torn from branches. The doorbell chimed one final, brittle sound before silence reclaimed the night. I didn't move, just stared at that gold, equal parts pissed and impressed despite myself. Behind the counter, his fingers danced across the stained wood. Methodically, he divided the sum into two equal portions, each movement precise as a surgeon's incision.
"Your cut." A stack slid toward me. "Don't spend it all at once, kid."
The weight of the coin pouch in my palm sent a thrill through me, excitement tinged with giddy relief. Just minutes ago, I'd been certain the deal would collapse, leaving me empty-handed again. Yet watching him maintain that impossible calm throughout the transaction, as if everything had been preordained. A startling realization dawned, this was his salesmanship perfected to an art form.
My gaze flicked to the antique clock on the wall before settling back on him. "I'll bring the next shipment around the 13th then. May I take my leave now? Do you...need help closing up?"
"No need. It's late." His back remained turned as he wiped down the liquor counter. "I've got this. Good work today."
"Right!" My response came out embarrassingly eager.
The streetlamps cast their jaundiced glow over the near-sleeping capital, their light pooling on deserted sidewalks as I left the tavern behind. Trees slid past like silent sentinels. The money pouch weighed heavy in my grip, impossibly dense, as if filled with lead rather than gold. Yet through the thin fabric, I could feel the coins radiating warmth, like embers from some alchemical forge.
'Four hundred fifty rubles per Torbica blossom!' The figure still seemed unreal, more than I might earn in weeks of labor. Yet here it was, obtained in a single evening simply by stammering a few words about dried flowers. This wasn't mere joy, nor just relief from hunger, this was security for months to come. Warmth flooded my chest as I imagined Kian's face when he saw the money. Perhaps my twelve-year-old wouldn't need to toil anymore. Perhaps we could finally purchase what had been mere fantasies, new books, warm winter clothes, meals where we didn't count each bite with anxious precision.
Yet, amidst this emotional torrent, an insidious thought took root. Before leaving, I'd glimpsed the money being divided evenly. Could he have miscalculated? Or worse, did he think me just an ignorant child, someone to be shortchanged? No, surely he wasn't that petty or grasping.
Beneath the flickering streetlamp, I unfastened the pouch with trembling fingers, counting each coin as it caught the jaundiced light. One, two, three...The numbers slithered through my mind like serpents. Our agreement was eighty-twenty, eighty percent for me. At forty-five hundred per blossom, what should the total be? More crucially, what exactly was my rightful share?
I stood in the middle of the empty street, carefully counting the money again. The bag in my hand suddenly felt heavier, each gold coin whispering unanswerable questions. Then I remembered his eyes when he handed me the money, calm, natural, with no sign he was testing me, nor any hint of deliberate generosity.
Six thousand seven hundred fifty, was that the exact amount? And in a few days, when I saw him again, what would I say? Anxiety spread through me like the creeping night mist. What had seemed like a perfect ending to an unexpected night was now the start of a sleepless one. I folded the money bags and stuffed them deep into my pocket, but I couldn't fold away the thoughts swirling in my head.
Walking home suddenly felt sluggish, as if I were trying to delay the moment of final decision. My breath grew uneven, an uneasy sensation spreading through my chest, impossible to ignore. No, I couldn't return home like this. I needed the truth, I had to know whether I was being foolishly suspicious for no reason.
I spun around, retracing my steps, each one heavier than before, not from tiredness, but dread. Dread of his anger, dread of ruining our deal, but worst of all, dread that I'd leave with less than I deserved.
When I reached the shop door again, my hands trembled as I knocked. It was a light tap, but in the silent night, it boomed like distant thunder.
"Someone there?" His voice floated from within, tinged with surprise.
"It's...it's me." I answered, my voice trembling slightly. "I...need to ask you something."
The sound of footsteps grew nearer before the door swung ajar. Amir appeared, sleeves pushed up, hair tousled from recent work. Confusion flickered in his gaze. "What is it? I thought you left already?"
A dry swallow. My voice lodged itself in my throat. "Could I...come inside? I need to...talk."
A beat of silence. Then, with a slight gesture. "Come in."
Most of the earlier customers had left, leaving just a few stragglers behind. The tavern grew quiet again, the air heavy with the lingering smell of alcohol and the faint aroma of Torbica. I stood awkwardly in the middle of it all, unsure how to begin. With a hesitant motion, I dragged out a stool, the coin pouch in my hand weighing me down like an anchor.
"About...the money earlier..."
His expression shifted from curiosity to wariness. "What's wrong? Is there a problem? You received six thousand seven hundred fifty rubles. Isn't that sufficient?"
"...Was the split really fair?" My voice wavered. "You claimed eighty percent for me, yet your bags looked nearly identical to mine. And they-" I hesitated, not daring to outright say they looked far heavier than the one in my hands.
The air in the tavern suddenly grew terrifyingly tense, for a moment, time itself seemed to freeze. Was he furious? Disappointed? Merely shocked? I couldn't read him. Then, with deliberate slowness, he laid his gold-stuffed pouches on the table. My eyes silently counted the fabric bags; they were indeed identical in number, except his were noticeably fuller.
"Four hundred fifty per flower. Fifty sold. Revenue, twenty-two thousand five hundred." His voice was ice. "Eighty percent of that is six thousand seven hundred fifty. If you don't believe me, do the math yourself."
Clutching the fabric pouch, my gaze locked onto the money bags on the table. Eighty percent of a hundred...the total sum should be...So had he given me the wrong amount? Or had he? My eyes dropped to the pouches again, my mind more tangled than ever. I'd never been good with complex calculations like these.
The clock on the wall ticked softly, each passing second draining his patience as his frown deepened. The weight imbalance between the pouches was undeniable, but how could I possibly accuse him? This was stupid. I never should've returned. I needed to leave before he revoked the deal, though...
Silently, I rose and dipped my head. "...Perhaps...I was mistaken.''
I hurried out of the tavern once more. The night wind swept through the capital's deserted streets, carrying with it a low growl from the dark alley where I'd just concluded my final black-market deal. The coins in my bag burned against my hip, warm with either shame or fury. But what could I possibly do now? Going to the authorities? Impossible, I was now one of them. Talking to anyone? Suicide, as this operation had become my brother's and my own cross to bear. And confronting him? Unthinkable. He held all the power in this arrangement, one word from him and we'd be thrust back into crushing poverty.
I should've known better. No, things like this were never simple. Maybe Amir had miscalculated or maybe I was the one misjudging him. Damn it all, my head was pounding.
Snow began falling as I crossed the capital's boundary line. Winter's first flakes kissed my face, crystalline and cruel. The full moon hung suspended in the night sky, its silvered light painting the dirt road back to my village. Pausing beside an ancient tree cluster, I carefully set down my bag, watching my breath form ghostly plumes in the frozen air.
Closing my eyes, I summoned the primal force awakening within me. That familiar, uncanny magic surged up my spine. Joints cracked softly, muscles twitched in waves and arm hair bristled as inky fur sprouted across my skin. Fangs elongated and curved claws sharpened into blades. When I collapsed onto all fours, my hands were already gone, replaced by something far older.
Standing on all fours in the form of a black wolf, though my eyes still held human awareness. My senses erupted into clarity, I could smell crisp snowflakes, distant pine resin and traces of creatures who'd walked this path before. My ears twitched upright, capturing the faintest sounds within miles.
Gently gripping the bag with my fangs, the familiar tang of metal and leather flooded my tongue. Then I turned northward, paws sinking soundlessly into fresh powder, leaving only wolf-prints in my wake. The familiarity struck me, those long-ago hunting nights with Father, when the world seemed steeped in the moon's spectral glow. Snow-shrouded trees stood like sentinel ghosts along the road, while distant hills flickered in and out of existence like mirages.
Onward I raced across untamed fields, leaping over frozen streams where small bridges arched. Above, the full moon hung like a colossal pupil, silently observing, its light not just guiding my path but nourishing the primal soul within me. Father always said this ancient power was a blessing, that our wolf-blood gifted us keener senses than most mortals, nothing to ever be ashamed of. Snow kept falling, weaving an enchanted white blanket over the world. Now, it was just me, a solitary black wolf moving through the darkness, returning to the place that owned my heart.