The streets of Ragsat Hanani were alive with the hum of daily life, a symphony of voices, footsteps, and the occasional call of a vendor pushing his cart through the narrow alleys. Moul Chach stood at the edge of the marketplace, his eyes scanning the crowd with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t there to buy or sell; his purpose was something else entirely. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the uneven cobblestones, and the air carried the mingled scents of spices, sweat, and smoke from nearby cooking fires.
People moved around him in waves, their conversations blending into a constant murmur. A group of children darted past, their laughter sharp against the background noise. Moul adjusted the strap of his bag, feeling the weight of what was inside. It wasn’t much—just a few papers, a knife, and a small pouch of coins—but it was enough for what he needed to do. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, ever since the message had reached him in the dead of night, slipped under his door by unseen hands.
The marketplace was a good place to disappear if you knew how to move. The stalls were packed close together, their awnings creating a patchwork of shade and light. A man could lose himself here, slipping between bodies like a shadow. Moul had done it before. He knew which vendors would turn a blind eye if you moved quickly enough, which alleys led to dead ends and which opened into wider streets. But today wasn’t about hiding. Today was about finding someone.
He spotted her near the fountain at the center of the square—a woman in a faded blue shawl, her hands busy sorting through a basket of dried herbs. She didn’t look up as he approached, but he knew she was aware of him. There was a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before, a slight tightening of her fingers around the stems she was holding. Moul stopped a few paces away, pretending to examine a nearby stall’s wares while he waited for her signal.
The exchange would be quick—a few words spoken under their breath, an object passed from one hand to another—and then they would both vanish back into the crowd as if nothing had happened. But even simple things could go wrong in Ragsat Hanani. The city had eyes everywhere: merchants who traded in information as readily as goods, guards who turned their heads for