Dawn Walker-Chapter 128: Contract Market VI

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Sekhmet’s gaze remained on the contract ledger counter, where clerks sorted stacks of documents with the same indifference as butchers arranging meat cuts. This place did not pretend to be kind. It pretended to be fair, which in Null was often more terrifying.

He did not like rushing. He did not like buying lives like objects.

But he also did not like pretending the world was better than it was.

He finally spoke, voice low enough that only the clerk and Auri could hear clearly.

"I want to talk to the candidates," he said.

The clerk’s expression brightened instantly. Business. Clear business. Not a vague observation.

"Which candidates, sir," the clerk asked, hands already itching to turn thoughts into fees.

Sekhmet kept his face neutral.

"Mira," he said first. "And the twins. Vera and Vela."

Auri’s gaze sharpened slightly at the twins’ names. She did not react beyond that, but Sekhmet could feel her attention pivot. Auri had learned quickly. Candidates were not just people. Candidates were variables. Each one carried consequences.

The clerk blinked. There was a flicker of surprise there, the kind that came when a buyer glanced at a gemstone and then asked to see the mountain it came from.

"Mira is a bonded retainer listing," the clerk said carefully. "The twins are a concubine posting under a special debt clause. Those categories do not usually mix in one negotiation."

Sekhmet looked at him calmly.

"I am not negotiating," he replied. "I am deciding."

The clerk swallowed, then nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "A private meeting can be arranged."

Auri’s voice was quiet. "Contract Market allows private meetings between candidates and applicants," she said, more a statement than a question. She had observed enough to know the structure.

"They do," the clerk agreed. "But not for free."

Sekhmet’s eyes did not change. "How much."

The clerk inhaled, then said it with the practiced smoothness of a man quoting weather.

"Ten thousand chaos stones," he replied. "Private meeting fee. Thirty minutes of protected time. Two guards posted outside. Rune-silence applied. No eavesdropping from other buyers. Candidates may speak freely within contract limits. All discussed terms remain confidential unless formally registered."

Ten thousand.

A number large enough to be insulting to most people.

A number small enough to be a joke to those who lived above the city’s hunger.

Sekhmet did not hesitate.

"No problem," he said.

Auri did not react, but her eyes flicked briefly across the clerk’s face, watching for greed, watching for deception.

The clerk’s mouth opened, then closed again. He had expected bargaining. Most buyers always bargained. Even rich ones. Even violent ones. Even noble ones. Bargaining was not about saving money. It was about dominance.

Sekhmet did not bargain.

He simply accepted the price like it was an inevitable tax on breathing.

The clerk recovered quickly and nodded with enthusiasm.

"Excellent," he said. "Payment up front, then arrangements. I will need your seal name for the ledger."

Sekhmet did not want his name shouted in this hall. Even in a place that claimed confidentiality, the walls had eyes. The clerks had mouths. The guards had friends. And rumors were a currency that traveled faster than chaos stones.

He reached into his coat calmly and produced a small coin pouch. He did not dump it onto the counter. He placed it gently, as if setting down a promise.

The clerk opened it, weighed, then quickly closed it again and slid it away.

"Confirmed," the clerk said. His tone grew more respectful, because money always made people respectful even when they hated you inside.

He pulled out a smaller ledger with a rune-marked cover.

"Seal name," he repeated.

Sekhmet did not use a fake name. Fake names created paper trails that eventually tangled into suspicion.

He spoke the simplest truth.

"Sekhmet Dawn," he said quietly.

The clerk’s pen paused.

The air between them shifted slightly.

It was not a gasp.

It was a subtle tightening, like the room’s attention had leaned closer without openly admitting it.

The clerk’s eyes lifted.

He looked Sekhmet up and down again, as if suddenly noticing the quiet authority behind his posture, the controlled coldness behind his calm.

Then the clerk nodded slowly, pen moving again.

"Understood," he said, and did not say anything else.

Auri’s gaze moved across the hall. She noticed it too. A few heads turned. A few whispers sparked. Names mattered. Especially names attached to old houses, old money, and fresh rumors.

Sekhmet did not care about the whispers.

He cared about what the whispers could become.

The clerk closed the ledger and tucked it away.

"I will arrange the meeting room," he said. "It will take some time. Candidates must be escorted. Retainer candidates are kept in a different wing than concubine postings. Cross-wing meetings require additional clearance."

Sekhmet nodded once.

"How long."

"Thirty minutes," the clerk said. "Perhaps less if the corridor is not busy."

He hesitated, then added, voice turning coaxing again.

"While you wait, sir, I can show you additional listings. Many candidates with talent. Some debt contracts. Some political alliances. Some family-surrender contracts. Some... special auctions."

Sekhmet’s eyes did not soften.

"I am not here for entertainment," he replied.

The clerk laughed nervously, then nodded quickly, but still tried to keep his professional tone.

"Of course," he said. "But observation helps make decisions. You might find a better fit."

Sekhmet did not answer immediately. He looked around the hall again.

This place was full of people who pretended they were buying workers or wives or protection, but what they were truly buying was control. Every contract was a leash. Sometimes golden. Sometimes iron. Sometimes invisible.

He had no desire to collect leashes like trophies.

"I will look by myself," He said.

Sekhmet exhaled slowly. He needed to talk to them. He needed to see their eyes in the same room. He needed to hear their voices without clerks selling them.

And he needed to decide what kind of monster he was willing to become.

Because vampire creation was not a contract. It was a permanent claim.