"Let go of me!" I screamed as cold water slammed my face.
"Shut up, Adeline. You wake the whole attic," Addison hissed, splashing the bucket again and hauling me upright. Her hands were blunt and sure, the way she'd learned to be in a city that traded favors for silence.
"She was thrashing like a drowning thing," Susana called from the doorway, voice rich with profit. "Storms or dreams, girl—both cost coin."
"I dreamed Tom," I said. My mouth tasted of river mud and iron. "They sold him."
"Dreams sell well to fools," Susana said. She moved among the patched quilts as if counting the threads. Her ring jangled when she shifted her weight. "You owe for three meals and a mend. You sleep in straw for free because you work off stories. Don't pretend grief buys you softness."
Addison's fingers tightened on my shoulders. "Stop stirring her, Susana."
Susana laughed. "Big sister's on the payroll now? Fine. Keep the charity. But the Flower Quarter runs on rules, and your hair is worth a trade."
"I won't—" I grabbed the braid at my shoulder. The braid was not just hair. It was Tom's mitten string wrapped in a knot once, a stubborn proof that someone I loved had existed. Letting it go felt like stepping off a dock.
"Let go," Greta said, stepping from the shadows. One of Susana's girls, thin as a reed and quicker with a knife than with a
