The black market sprawled through the harbor district like a parasite that had learned to mimic respectability. During the day, it looked almost legitimate—vendors hawking dried fish and ship supplies, dock workers loading cargo, the occasional tourist looking for "authentic local crafts." Adom knew better. Half the fish vendors were fences. The ship supplies included things that would make Imperial customs agents very unhappy. And those authentic local crafts had a disturbing tendency to hum with unauthorized magic.He walked slowly through the crowd, hands in his pockets, looking like any other customer browsing the stalls. The dog trotted beside him, nose constantly moving, occasionally stopping to investigate particularly interesting scents."Anything?" Adom asked quietly.The dog glanced up at him, then went back to sniffing. Not yet.They passed a woman selling "imported spices" that definitely weren't spices. A man offering "navigational instruments" that would have been more useful for breaking into places than finding them. Two kids running some kind of shell game that involved actual magic shells.The dog paused at a stall selling weapons. Its nose twitched as it investigated a display of supposedly decorative daggers.They were here, it said suddenly.Adom stopped walking. "Recently?"No. Days ago. The scent is old."Can you follow it?"The dog put its nose to the ground and started moving. Not quickly—the trail was faint and kept getting interrupted by fresher smells. Fish guts. Unwashed humans. Something that might have been rotting seaweed or might have been rotting something else entirely.They wove through the market at the dog's pace. Slow enough that Adom had time to notice things. Like how the vendor at the weapon stall was watching them with slightly too much interest. Or how the crowd seemed to (...)