He laughed like it was charming.
“Quality merchandise.”
Clara’s jaw ached from clenching. She tasted blood where her teeth met the inside of her cheek. She kept her spine straight because Eli needed something in the world to remain unbroken, and right now that something had to be her.
“Fifty!”
The drunk who called it out leaned on his friend’s shoulder, grinning with a softness that made Clara’s stomach lurch. She’d seen that grin on men passing the boardinghouse window at night, when she and Eli tried to sleep in a room they could no longer afford.
The auctioneer’s hand lifted. The hammer hung in the air, a falling star.
“Fifty going once—”
A voice cut through the crowd, quiet but absolute.
“One hundred.”
It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be.
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