A Deal in the Alley

Althea walked toward the back of the estate, her steps light against the overgrown path leading to the old greenhouse. It was the only place in this wretched estate where she could find even a sliver of peace. The structure stood hidden behind thick vines and towering trees, its glass panes dirtied with years of neglect.

Many of the windows had cracks running through them, and some were completely shattered, jagged remnants of glass still clinging to the wooden frames. The roof sagged slightly in places, and dust layered the once-polished wooden shelves inside. Still, it was hers.

She sighed, stepping inside, inhaling the faint scent of soil and greenery. Even though it was falling apart, she had managed to clear out a small space for herself, sweeping the dust, mending a broken bench, and tending to the plants she had grown with care. Her herbs thrived in the old pots and wooden crates, the leaves healthy and vibrant despite the lack of proper sunlight filtering through the stained glass.

Kneeling down, she ran her fingers over the leaves of her herbs, their familiar texture grounding her. "It's time to sell them," she murmured to herself, plucking the mature ones carefully. The stems snapped cleanly, the sharp sound breaking the quiet of the greenhouse.

As she gathered the herbs into her basket, her thoughts drifted. If she wanted to escape this place, she needed money. Simply running away without any resources would be foolish—an invitation to starve on the streets or worse. She was never given wages for her work in the estate, being told she should be grateful to have a roof over her head and food—if the scraps she received could even be called that. Selling herbs had been her only way to gather money little by little, and she had been saving every single coin. When the time came, she would be ready to leave.

By the time she had finished, the afternoon sun was already starting to dip lower in the sky. She hurried back to her small chamber, changing into a simple but clean dress, slipping a hood over her head. Today was market day.

The bustling streets greeted her as she stepped into the heart of the market. The scent of fresh bread, roasting meat, and spices filled the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and customers alike. She walked past stalls filled with vibrant fabrics, trinkets, and food before stopping in front of an herb shop.

A small bell chimed as she stepped inside. The old man behind the counter looked up, his wrinkled face breaking into a warm smile. "Ah, Althea! Right on time as always."

She smiled softly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Harland. I've brought fresh herbs for you again."

"Excellent! I've been needing a restock. Customers have been asking for your herbs specifically." He took the basket from her hands and began inspecting the leaves. "Perfect as always." He handed back the empty basket, but now with a small pouch of coins inside.

Althea glanced inside and frowned slightly. "This is too much."

Mr. Harland waved a dismissive hand. "Think of it as a tip. Your herbs are the freshest I get, and I appreciate your consistency."

She hesitated but eventually nodded. "Thank you."

After bidding him farewell, she wandered back into the market, stopping at a small stall selling seeds. She picked out a few fruit seeds, thinking they would be useful in the long run. After that, she made her way to a fruit stall, her fingers brushing over apples and oranges. Fruits were a rare luxury for her in the estate, but they were necessary for her health.

She paid for a few apples and oranges, securing them in her basket before heading toward a familiar alleyway—a shortcut back to the estate. She had used this route many times before without issue. But today, fate was not on her side.

A rough hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, yanking her back. She spun around to see a man with a smug grin, his grip firm. "Where are you rushing off to, sweetheart?" he drawled.

Althea remained calm, her hazel eyes narrowing. "Let go."

The man chuckled, ignoring her words. "No need to be so cold. How about some company?"

Without hesitation, she drove her knee up between his legs. A strangled groan escaped his lips as he crumpled to the ground. She turned to run, but before she could take more than two steps, a group of men emerged from the shadows, blocking her path.

"Not so fast, girlie," one of them sneered. "Hand over your money and whatever else you have, and we'll let you go."

Althea's heart pounded, but she didn't let her fear show. She took a step back, her grip tightening on the basket's handle. Her eyes darted around, looking for an escape. The first man she had kicked was still groaning on the ground, but the others were alert and closing in.

One of them lunged forward, grabbing at her basket. In the scuffle, her carefully chosen fruits tumbled to the dirt. A sharp crunch echoed as a heavy boot stomped on an apple, the juices spilling onto the ground. Rage flickered in her chest at the sight, but she didn't let it control her.

She backed up further, only to feel the cold, rough surface of the alley wall against her back. Trapped.

"I don't have anything," she said, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.

The man smirked, stepping closer until she could smell the sour stench of alcohol on his breath. "Oh, I think you do," he murmured, his eyes raking over her. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

Althea clenched her fists. She was preparing to fight, to claw and scratch if she had to, but before she could make a move, a sharp sound cut through the alley—the unmistakable noise of a body hitting the ground.

She blinked, startled, as she looked past the man in front of her. Two of the thugs were already sprawled on the cobblestones, groaning in pain. The remaining ones turned in alarm, confusion flashing across their faces.

And then she saw him.

A figure loomed at the entrance of the alley, half-hidden by the dim light. His cloak billowed slightly as he moved, and the glint of steel flashed in his hand. His face was obscured by the shadow of his hood, but his eyes—red and piercing—locked onto hers.

Who was he?