If one anonymous report wasn't enough to sink them, Evelyn decided she would simply bury them in a landslide of accusations. Persistence was a virtue, after all.

She slipped into a public restroom and transformed. She traded her current attire for an old, nondescript coat that had belonged to Mrs. Ward a decade ago and donned a handmade cloth mask. Finally, she slid on a pair of Ward’s old black-rimmed glasses. They had no prescription—Ward had worn them solely to project the image of a sophisticated intellectual—but on Evelyn, they served as the perfect final touch for her disguise.

Familiar with the rhythm of the black market now, she wheeled a brand-new bicycle through the hidden entrance. To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, she opted for a quick sale. She priced the bike at forty dollars—a steal. While many craved such a luxury, few carried that kind of cash on their person.

Deeper in the shadows of a nearby alley, a man nearly six-foot-three sat by a window, wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The door burst open with a heavy thud.

"Owen!" Toby gasped, his excitement palpable. "There’s a seller out there. Small stature, probably a woman, looks like she’s desperate for quick cash. She’s asking forty for a bike. Do we take it?"

"Condition?" Owen asked, his voice gravelly.

"I checked it myself," Toby replied. "Ninety percent new, at least. Looks like it’s barely touched pavement."

In this shadow economy, a new bicycle without the need for a government permit could fetch ninety dollars on a good day, and eighty on a bad one. A fifty-dollar profit for a five-minute transaction? Owen didn't hesitate. He pulled forty dollars from a drawer and tossed them to Toby.

Evelyn had scouted all three of the county’s black markets on her last trip, but she preferred the "East Market." It was well-regulated, with one entrance, two exits, and lookouts at every post. As Toby handed over the cash, he even offered a gruff bit of advice: "Tuck that away. Better to split it between different pockets."

Evelyn lowered her voice, pitching it into a husky rasp. "I have old clothes, furniture—that sort of thing. Do you buy in bulk?"

Toby eyed the "little person" skeptically. Behind the glasses, her eyes looked innocent, almost naive. He’d just warned her to hide her money, and now she was looking for more business? Maybe she’s sharper than she looks, he thought.

"Where’d you get the goods?"

Evelyn leaned in, her whisper barely audible. "I have... relatives. On the inside. Seized property from the 'struggle sessions.'"

It wasn't a complete lie. Mrs. Ward’s brother, Sloan, had been exactly that kind of predator. But in this case, Evelyn was the one who had "seized" the Wards' entire household.

Toby’s expression shifted. Even though the political climate had cooled slightly, the horrors of those years were still a taboo subject that commanded a certain grim respect.

Evelyn stepped out and returned shortly, lugging two heavy burlap sacks and dragging a third. Inside was the wardrobe of the entire Ward family. Compared to the average person, the Wards lived like royalty. As a workshop supervisor, Ward had first pick of factory goods, and Sloan—childless and wealthy—had treated Dominic and his brothers like his own, funneling resources their way for years.

The sacks contained high-quality coats, old military overcoats sent back from the front by Marcus, and three sets of brand-new worker uniforms from the meat processing plant. Evelyn kept a few versatile pieces for herself and sold the rest for a lump sum of sixty dollars.

She used part of the proceeds to stock up on fine rice and flour; she had enough coarse grains from her brigade rations to last a lifetime.

Toby beamed as he tallied the haul. He could flip these for triple the price. "The name’s Toby," he said, offering a rare nod of approval. "Next time you’ve got stock, come straight to me."

After leaving the East Market, Evelyn doubled back to ensure she wasn't being followed. Once satisfied, she vanished into a secluded alley, stowed her purchases in her space, and changed her outfit once more.

Within minutes of emerging, she spotted a familiar silhouette: Julian. She trailed him at a distance, realizing he was heading toward the "West Market."

Anticipating his needs, Evelyn found a quiet corner and retrieved several quilts from her space. She bundled them with twine in a simple cross-pattern. Stripped of their original covers, the Ward family quilts looked like any other secondhand bedding.

In a market where everyone was looking for something new or rare, a person selling old quilts was a strange sight. But Julian was desperate. He was searching for new bedding and winter coats, but cotton and fabric coupons were harder to find than gold. Unless a family was starving, no one sold new winter gear.

Julian eventually stopped in front of the masked, bundled-up figure of Evelyn. She had her scarf wrapped so tightly around her head that only a sliver of her eyes was visible. Julian grimaced. He had suffered enough lately, and the idea of sleeping under someone else’s used bedding made his skin crawl.

"These are all used," Julian said, his voice hopeful. "Do you have anything new?"

Evelyn waved a hand dismissively. New quilts? For you? Not in this lifetime.

Julian hesitated. "How much?"

Evelyn held up five fingers. Five dollars.

Julian frowned. Five dollars for a used quilt felt steep, but he didn't have the stomach to haggle in a place like this. "If you drop the price, I’ll take all three."

Evelyn shook her head. Fifteen dollars for three, or no deal.

Julian squinted at her. "Can you not speak?"

Evelyn looked down, thinking, Your whole family are the ones who can't speak properly.

Julian’s mind immediately filled in the blanks. A mute, he thought. Probably not born that way—likely some tragedy had stolen her voice. The poor woman was selling the very quilts off her bed just to survive. A wave of misplaced pity washed over him.

He handed over fifteen dollars.

As he gathered the quilts, Evelyn reached into her sacks and pulled out two sets of pristine, padded winter jackets and trousers. One set was from Julian’s own family’s stash; the other was from the Wards. Even if he recognized the patterns later, it didn't matter. By then, the transaction would be long over.

Julian’s eyes lit up. "You’re selling new coats too?"

It was a stupid question. Why else would she be holding them? Compared to the musty quilts, these were a godsend.

"Is this all you have? If you have more, I'll buy them all!" Julian said, suddenly playing the part of the wealthy benefactor.

Evelyn waved him off. That was it.

"Name your price," Julian said, reaching for his wallet.