The box weighed against his hip like a torn-out heart. Dylan followed Jonas through the winding alleys of the black market, each step heavier under the gaze of the blind statues. His mind still lingered on Jonas' warning.
This Gael…
A Threshold, apparently. A ferryman to things that had no name. But that was exactly what drew him in. He hadn't come to this world for gold—hell, he wasn't even sure why he was here. But to survive, he needed to understand its cracks, the underground currents where real power flowed.
Three hundred gold coins. The sum was laughable for the risk. And yet, it was perfect. Enough to buy identities, enough to justify his "legal" entry into public affairs without raising too much suspicion.
