A group of Residents are crowded around a showcase of dinnerware, eyes transfixed on the items like they’re memorizing every aspect of the design. Like they’re storing the information for later. Another group huddles near a tiered display of honeyed cakes and spun sugar, helping themselves to samples while the baker sways silently in the background, a contented smile plastered on his face.

Some of the Residents have human servants trailing behind them, carrying boxes and tins stacked with the day’s finds. But aside from the occasional order or wave of their hand, none of the Residents interact with the humans. They don’t even look at them.

“It is an honor to serve,” a nearby human says, bowing as a pair of Residents stride away with a mirrored set of flowered headdresses.

Is this all humans exist for? To be invisible until they’re needed?

A chill runs down the back of my spine. Is this what Ophelia’s existence was like?

I turn, expecting to find Shura beside me, but she’s not there. My neck cranes reflexively, scanning the crowd for any sign of her candy-pink hair. I find hat boxes striped like peppermint and a tapestry stitched to resemble the sky at dawn. I notice a Resident with lavender feathers in their hair and another with plum silk spun around their shoulders like enormous flowers. But I don’t see Shura.

Pinning my eyes forward, I try not to panic. It’s my fault for breaking the rules—Shura said not to be too curious, but I’ve been staring at everything like I’m transfixed by this world instead of terrified of it.

And now I’m in the middle of Resident territory without a single person who can help me.

I step around the approaching Residents in front of me, unsure of whether I’m still protected by a veil. If I’m exposed, my only chance of survival is to pretend to be unaware. Relaxing my mouth, I attempt the same vacant pleasantness as the humans behind the market stalls and hope it’s enough.

The Residents pass by without a glance in my direction.

I look beyond the crowd, searching for a quick exit. An archway sits fifty yards ahead, wedged between two florist stalls that overflow with rainbow-hued textures. If I can get outside the spiraling walls, I can make my way back to the docks.

A few more minutes of pretend, and I’ll be safe.

I try to keep my footsteps slow, the way everyone else around here moves. Like they aren’t in a hurry. Like they have all the time in the world.

And then something dazzling catches my eye. At first I’m not sure what it is. Something bright and moving, like thousands of blue fireflies clustered together. But the way they move like they’re a part of something…

Like they’re a part of something alive.