Silas lifted his voice, riding the laughter like it was a wagon headed downhill. “Which of my girls would you like?” he demanded, and his eyes skated over the men, hungry for money, hungry for control. “Come on now. Give me a fair offer.”
Someone tossed out a number, low and joking. Another man whistled at June. A third pointed at Lila and said something Ada refused to hear.
Silas turned his body, already angling to present June like she was the prize. “This one’s got hair like wheat,” he said, tugging June forward by the elbow. “Pretty little thing. Soft.”
June’s mouth trembled. Ada felt something inside her rise, sharp and protective and useless. She couldn’t stop him. Not alone. Not here, where men watched like they were waiting for the punchline.
Then a deep voice cut through the noise.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just… solid. Like an axe biting clean through ice.
“I’ll take the middle one.”
The laughter hiccupped. Heads turned.
Ada looked up, and the street seemed to narrow.
