The city did not sleep that night.
By dawn, the streets of Greyport were crawling with whispers. Merchants shuttered their stalls early, guards doubled their patrols, and even the drunkards who usually howled at the moon stumbled into silence. The news had spread faster than wildfire, leaping from tavern to tavern, alley to alley, mouth to mouth.
The Black Market was gone.
Not diminished. Not raided. Not weakened.
Gone.
A fortress that had endured for decades—a hidden empire run by ruthless Harbingers and guarded by Blessed Artifacts—was now nothing more than smoldering ruins. Corpses still twitched in the ashes where fire hadn’t finished its work. Looters had crept in, only to run screaming at the sight of melted wards and shadows that lingered long after the killing was done.
Nobod
