Chapter 2: People Who Look Up

Morning came with noise.
Not the soft kind. Not the kind that eased you into the day.
The market woke like it had something to prove—voices already raised, carts rolling too fast over uneven stone, someone arguing about prices before the sun had properly settled.
Kaelira Voss arrived like she always did.
On time. Unbothered. Already tired of everyone.
She dropped her satchel behind her stall, rolled her shoulders once, and glanced over the setup she’d left the night before.
Nothing missing.
Nothing moved.
Good.
“Morning, Kael.”
She didn’t look up. “Too early for conversation.”
“It’s nearly mid-morning.”
“Then it’s too late for politeness.”
A soft laugh answered her.
Not loud. Not forced.
Kael paused.
That wasn’t—
She looked up.
And immediately wished she hadn’t.
Clean boots.
Unscuffed.
Clothes that weren’t practical but were somehow still functional. Light armor woven into fabric, subtle enough to look effortless.
And the emblem.
Small, stitched near the collar—but visible enough.
Tower-certified.
“…You’re standing in my space,” Kael said flatly.
The woman smiled like that was amusing.
“I’m not touching anything.”
“You’re thinking about it,” Kael replied. “That counts.”
The woman tilted her head slightly, studying her.
“You’re Kaelira Voss.”
It wasn’t a question.
Kael leaned back in her chair, unimpressed.
“That depends,” she said. “Are you here to buy something or waste my time with information I already know?”
Another soft laugh.
Definitely a climber.
They all had that same tone—like everything was mildly entertaining.
“I’ve heard of you,” the woman said. “You deal in Tower goods without ever entering.”
“I also breathe without assistance,” Kael said. “Would you like to hear about that too?”
The woman ignored that.
“Impressive,” she continued. “Most people in your position wouldn’t manage it.”
“My position,” Kael repeated. “You mean not inside the Tower?”
“I mean outside influence over inside resources.”
Kael rested her chin against her hand.
“Ah,” she said. “So a polite way of saying I profit off people like you.”
“If you want to phrase it that way.”
“I do.”
A pause.
The woman’s smile didn’t fade—but it changed, just slightly.
Sharpened.
“And yet,” she said, “you rely on us.”
Kael smiled back.
Not warmly.
“Oh, completely,” she said. “If people stopped risking their lives for materials, I’d have to find a respectable job.”
“Tragic.”
“I’d rather starve.”
That earned a real laugh.
Short. Genuine.
Kael didn’t like that.

Around them, the market had started to shift.
It was subtle.
But Kael noticed subtle things.
People moved differently.
Stood straighter.
Voices lowered—not out of fear, but awareness.
Respect.
Not for her.
For the woman standing in front of her.
A vendor two stalls down abandoned an argument mid-sentence just to glance over.
Someone else stepped aside to clear space—space that hadn’t been needed a moment ago.
Kael watched it happen with quiet irritation.
Same market.
Same people.
Different treatment.
All because of a symbol stitched into fabric.
“…You’re drawing attention,” Kael said.
The woman followed her gaze, then shrugged lightly.
“That tends to happen.”
“Then stop tending to it somewhere else.”
“I’m not done here.”
Kael sighed. “Of course you’re not.”

“What do you want?” she asked, straightening slightly.
“Information.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear the question.”
“I don’t need to,” Kael said. “The answer is still no.”
The woman considered her for a moment.
Then—
“I’ll pay.”
Kael’s expression didn’t change.
But she gestured lazily. “Now I’m listening.”

They talked.
Briefly.
Carefully.
The woman asked about supply patterns—nothing too specific, but not random either.
Where certain materials were appearing more often.
Which floors they were claimed to come from.
Who brought them.
Kael answered just enough to earn coin.
Not enough to matter.
Not enough to get involved.
Because that’s what this was.
Involvement.
And Kael didn’t do that.

When the exchange ended, the woman placed a small pouch of coins on the table.
More than necessary.
Kael raised an eyebrow.
“You overpaid.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Another slight smile.
“Consider it appreciation.”
Kael nudged the pouch once, weighing it.
Then she looked back up.
“I don’t do loyalty,” she said. “If that’s what you’re buying.”
“I’m not,” the woman replied. “I’m buying access.”
“You already got what you came for.”
“For now.”
Kael leaned back again.
“Then come back later,” she said. “Like everyone else.”
The woman studied her one last time.
Then turned to leave.

And just like that—
The market shifted again.
Voices returned to normal.
People moved without thinking.
Respect faded into routine.
Like someone had lifted a weight no one admitted was there.
Kael watched it settle.
Then looked down at the pouch of coins.
“…Huh.”
She tossed it once in her hand.
Heavy.
Useful.
Annoying.
Riven appeared a few minutes later, dropping into the same chair as always.
“You look like you just swallowed something unpleasant.”
“I had a conversation,” Kael said.
“With who?”
She gestured vaguely. “One of your kind.”
“Ouch,” he said. “That’s offensive.”
“It’s accurate.”
He glanced at the coins on her table.
“…They paid you that much just to talk?”
“Yes.”
Riven leaned back, impressed. “I risk my life and come back with injuries. You sit here and insult people and make more money.”
Kael folded her arms.
“Sounds like a skill issue.”
He snorted.
“Seriously though,” he added, “what did they want?”
“Information.”
“And you gave it?”
“Some.”
Riven studied her.
“You ever think about going in?”
Kael didn’t even pause this time.
“No.”
“Still?”
“Especially.”
He shook his head, half amused.
“You’re the only person I know who benefits from the Tower without wanting anything to do with it.”
Kael glanced past him.
Just briefly.
The Tower stood where it always did.
Unchanging.
Unreachable.
Unnecessary.
“I want things to stay predictable,” she said.
Riven followed her gaze.
“…That’s not how this works,” he said quietly.
Kael looked away first.
“It is for me.”

By the time the sun dipped lower, the market began thinning again.
Another day.
More coins.
More people.
Same pattern.
Kael packed her things in silence, the weight of the coin pouch settling into her bag.
Useful.
But not worth the attention that came with it.
Nothing was.
As she lifted her crate, she caught a fragment of conversation drifting past—
“…Floor Twelve…”
“…not matching records…”
“…something’s off…”
Kael didn’t react.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t ask.
Because that wasn’t her business.
And she intended to keep it that way.