Chapter 6: The Rumor That Didn’t Sit Right

By the next morning, Kaelira Voss had already decided one thing—
She wasn’t going to ignore it anymore.
Not the inconsistencies. Not the patterns. Not the way her “wrong” pile was starting to outgrow the rest of her inventory.
Ignoring things worked when they were harmless.
This wasn’t.

She arrived earlier than usual.
The market wasn’t fully awake yet, which meant fewer interruptions and—more importantly—fewer opinions.
Perfect.
Kael set her notebook down, opened it, and began rechecking entries from the previous day. She wasn’t adding new observations yet—just confirming old ones.
If the pattern held, it wasn’t a fluke.
If it didn’t—
Then she’d wasted effort.
Both possibilities annoyed her.

“Back already?”
Kael didn’t look up. “I never left. I just temporarily stopped being visible.”
Riven stepped into place beside her stall, already halfway through tightening the straps on his gloves. Fresh cuts on his knuckles. Dust along his sleeves.
He’d been inside.
Recently.
“You look worse,” she added.
“Thank you. I try.”
“Unsuccessfully.”
He huffed, then leaned slightly toward the table. “What’s today’s obsession?”
“Verification,” Kael replied. “Everything I noted yesterday—I’m checking if it repeats.”
“And?”
She tapped the notebook once.
“So far, yes.”

Riven glanced around the half-set market, then back at her. “I’m heading in again.”
Kael finally looked up. “Already?”
“Floor rotations don’t care about your schedule.”
“Rude,” she said.
He smirked faintly, then nodded toward her table. “Want me to check anything specific?”
That made her pause.
Then she reached for the notebook, flipping it open and tearing out a small section—not cleanly, just enough.
“Fifth, Eleventh, Twelfth,” she said, handing it to him. “Pay attention to material behavior, not just what people say it is.”
Riven took the paper, scanning it.
“You’re trusting me with your ‘degree of wrongness’ system?”
“I’m trusting you to not die long enough to notice things.”
“That’s less flattering.”
“It’s accurate.”

He tucked the paper away, then straightened.
“I’ll be back by evening,” he said.
“You say that like it’s guaranteed.”
“It usually is.”
Kael tilted her head. “That confidence is concerning.”
“It should be reassuring.”
“It’s not.”

Riven paused, then added—more quietly this time, “If something’s actually off… I’ll see it.”
Kael studied him for a second.
Then nodded once.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not going in to check myself.”
“Still refusing?”
“Consistently.”
He gave a short nod, then turned and disappeared into the early crowd forming near the Tower entrance.

By the time the market fully opened, the tension had returned.
Not explosive.
But present.
Like a constant hum under everything.

“Kael.”
She looked up to see Lera—an older vendor who dealt mostly in dried herbs and medicinal bundles—approaching with a tight expression.
Lera didn’t approach unless something was wrong.
“Morning,” Kael said. “You look like bad news.”
“I feel like it,” Lera replied, setting down a bundle. “Check this.”
Kael opened it, her movements precise.
Cut—correct.
Color—slightly off.
Texture—
She paused.
“…Where did you get this?”
“Same supplier as always,” Lera said. “Been bringing me Twelfth Floor stock for months.”
Kael pressed the leaves lightly between her fingers.
“They’re weaker,” she said.
“I thought so too.”
“They look right,” Kael continued, “but they don’t hold potency.”
Lera folded her arms. “That’s three batches this week.”
Kael glanced at her notebook, then added a quick note.
Twelfth (repeat) — visual match — functional drop

“You think it’s him?” Lera asked.
“No,” Kael said immediately.
“Why not?”
“Because if he was cutting corners, it wouldn’t be this consistent,” Kael replied. “And you would’ve noticed earlier.”
Lera frowned. “I did notice earlier.”
Kael looked up.
“…Earlier how?”
“Last week,” Lera said. “I thought it was just a bad run.”
Kael’s grip on the charcoal tightened slightly.
Last week.
So it didn’t start three days ago.
It reached her three days ago.

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.
“You’re both overthinking it.”
Kael turned.
Dain—metal vendor, mid-thirties, built like he trusted brute force more than precision—leaned against the edge of her stall.
“I’ve had bad batches before,” he continued. “It happens.”
“Not like this,” Kael said.
“You’re making it sound bigger than it is.”
“And you’re making it smaller than it is,” she replied.
Dain shrugged. “Because that’s usually safer.”
“Safe doesn’t fix problems.”
“It avoids them.”
Kael gave him a flat look. “That’s not the same thing.”

Before the argument could go further, a customer stepped in—young, nervous, holding a small wrapped package.
“Uh—sorry—can someone check this?”
Kael gestured. “Put it down.”
He did, hands slightly unsteady.
“I was told it’s Twelfth Floor,” he said quickly. “But I just—I don’t know—it feels—”
“Off?” Kael finished.
“Yes.”
She unwrapped it.
More herbs.
Same cut.
Same almost-right appearance.
Same problem.

Kael exhaled slowly.
“Who sold this to you?”
The boy hesitated. “A regular supplier. Been around for a while.”
“Name?”
“…Tarin.”
Lera’s head snapped slightly. “Tarin?”
Dain frowned. “The climber?”
“The one who runs Twelfth supply lines,” Lera added.
Kael looked between them.
“Consistent?” she asked.
“Very,” Lera said. “Reliable.”
Dain nodded. “Doesn’t mess up.”
Kael looked back down at the herbs.
“…Then he didn’t mess up,” she said quietly.

A brief silence settled.
Uncomfortable.
Heavy.

“Where is he now?” Kael asked.
The boy shifted slightly. “He went back in. Two days ago, I think.”
“Normal?”
Dain shrugged. “Yeah. That’s his cycle.”
Lera didn’t look convinced. “He usually sends word when he reaches Twelve.”
Kael’s eyes flicked up.
“…Usually?”
“Yeah,” Lera said. “Just a quick confirmation. Keeps buyers informed.”
“And this time?”
Lera hesitated.
“…Nothing yet.”

Dain waved it off. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It might,” Kael said.
“Or he’s just delayed.”
“Or he’s not,” she replied.

The boy looked between them, clearly unsure whether to stay or leave.
Kael wrapped the herbs again and handed them back.
“I’ll buy it,” she said.
His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Really?”
“For less.”
“…Right.”

When he left, Lera leaned closer.
“You think something happened to him?”
Kael didn’t answer immediately.
Her gaze had shifted—unintentionally—
Toward the Tower.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that if someone as consistent as Tarin starts sending out inconsistent materials…”
She paused.
Then finished—
“…the problem didn’t start with him.”

Dain crossed his arms. “You’re building a story out of nothing.”
“No,” Kael said. “I’m building it out of patterns.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”

The conversation dissolved after that.
No conclusions.
No agreement.
Just more uncertainty added to everything else.

By midday, the rumor had already begun to move.
Quietly.
Subtly.
Passed between vendors, repeated with slight variations.
“Tarin’s late.”
“He didn’t send word.”
“He reached Twelve, didn’t he?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe not.”

Kael didn’t repeat it.
Didn’t spread it.
But she didn’t ignore it either.
Because it fit.
Too well.

By late afternoon, Riven returned.
Dustier than before. Quieter too.
He dropped into the chair across from her, pulling out the folded note she’d given him.
“…You’re not going to like this,” he said.
Kael closed her notebook.
“Good,” she replied. “I was getting bored.”

He placed a small piece of metal on the table.
“Fifth Floor,” he said. “Direct pull.”
Kael picked it up.
Tested it.
Bent—
It resisted.
Then snapped.

Her expression didn’t change.
But her grip tightened slightly.
“…And?” she asked.
Riven met her eyes.
“It wasn’t like that before.”

Silence.

From somewhere nearby, voices drifted again—
“…heard about Tarin…”
“…not back yet…”
“…something’s wrong…”

Kael set the metal down slowly.
Her notebook sat closed in front of her.
Full of patterns.
Full of answers that weren’t answers yet.

And now—
A name had joined them.

“…Still not your problem?” Riven asked quietly.
Kael leaned back, eyes flicking once more toward the Tower.
Tall.
Silent.
Unchanging.

“…It’s getting there,” she said.

End of Chapter 6