The docks at night were no place for the weak. Armand Vayne stood on the wooden planks, watching as his men worked swiftly, unloading the latest shipment. The tide lapped against the pillars beneath him, thick with the stench of salt and fish. And rotting wood. Lanterns swung overhead, casting restless shadows over the figures moving below laborers, smugglers, and men who owed him more than they could ever repay. And at the center of it all, standing with the quiet confidence of a man who owned everything within sight, was Vayne.
Careful with that," he murmured as a crate was lowered onto the dock. His voice was soft, but the men heard the warning beneath it. They handled his goods with the delicacy of men who knew the price for failure. A figure stepped forward from the shadows. Mathias, his second-in-command, was a man whose loyalty was built on blood and shared secrets. "Shipment came in clean," Mathias reported. "No interference from the watch. No missing crates.'' Vayne gave a slow nod, though he had expected nothing less. "And the special cargo?"
Mathias hesitated, then gestured toward the far end of the docks. "In the warehouse as you requested." Vayne turned his expression unreadable. He had built his empire on silk and silver, on rare spices and fine wines. That was what the merchants in the upper city believed, what the nobles who courted his favor whispered in admiration. They thought his wealth was built on skill and cunning alone. They had no idea.
His boots echoed against the wooden planks as he strode toward the warehouse. The guards outside straightened at the sight of him, stepping aside without a word. The heavy iron doors groaned as they were pushed open, revealing the dimly lit interior. At first glance, it looked like any other storehouse. Stacks of cargo, barrels of imported goods, the faint scent of aged wood and damp stone. But at the far end, past the false walls and carefully arranged crates, was the true heart of his operation. A gilded cage sat in the shadows, barely illuminated by a single lantern. Inside, curled against the bars, was a figure.
A girl.
No -something more than a girl.
Vayne stepped closer, his sharp gaze taking in the shimmering silver of her hair, the unnatural glow of her skin beneath the flickering light. Her breathing was shallow, her shoulders trembling. The shackles around her wrists were delicate but unbreakable, forged of enchanted iron. Mathias kept his distance, shifting uneasily. "She hasn't spoken," he muttered. "Barely eats. But when she cries...." Vayne's lip curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
Mermaid's tears. Priceless. Coveted. More valuable than gold, more addictive than any opium that flowed through the city's underbelly. A single pearl formed from their sorrow could buy a fleet, and topple a kingdom. And he had a steady supply. If only she would weep. Vayne knelt beside the cage, studying her like one might study a rare jewel. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice deceptively kind. The mermaid didn't answer. She only turned her face away, pressing her forehead against the bars, as if willing herself to disappear. Vayne exhaled, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. You'll break, eventually,. They always do."
He reached into his coat, withdrawing a velvet pouch. With a flick of his wrist, he let the content spill into his palm-a collection of smooth, iridescent pearls. Each one was formed from pain, from despair. From the delicate, fragile hopes of those who had once believed in freedom. Vayne let the pearls roll through his fingers before slipping them back into the pouch. He straightened, turning to Mathias." Increase the dose," he said simply. Mathias hesitated." She won't last if we push too hard-
"Then she'll be replaced," Vayne said coldly. "But not before she pays her worth." The mermaid made a small, broken sound, her fingers tightening around the bars, Vayne didn't spare her a second glance as he strode out of the warehouse, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him. Outside, the city lights flickered against the water. The night was still, the world oblivious to the quiet suffering hidden beneath its surface.
Vayne smoothed his cuffs, adjusting the rings on his fingers. He had built his fortune on power and control. And no one, even kings, not lords, not the gods themselves, take that from him.