The hand came out of nowhere.

  One moment Coin was catching afternoon light on the orange cart, nested in the little hollow between two navels, warm and content. The next, fingers closed around Coin and Coin was moving, scooped up in a motion so smooth it barely disturbed the fruit.

  Pocket. Darkness. The muffled sounds of the market continuing without Coin.

  THEFT: IN PROGRESS.

  SELECTED RESPONSE: WAIT.

  The thief moved fast at first, weaving through the crowd. Coin felt the rhythm of it in the thief's gait—confident strides, subtle direction changes, a pace built to not draw attention. Every few steps the angle shifted as the thief turned, navigating by memory.

  Professional work. Or close enough to matter.

  The crowd sounds began to thin. Fewer voices, fewer footsteps overlapping. The thief's pace relaxed as the market fell away behind them. He was clear now, moving through quieter streets, heading somewhere specific.

  SKILL ASSESSMENT: ADEQUATE.

  AWARENESS OF WHAT HE STOLE: ZERO.

  Coin could have said something. Could have made this very awkward very fast—a coin suddenly talking in a thief's pocket in the middle of wherever they were. But where was the entertainment in that?

  Better to wait and see where stolen things went.

  The thief made a series of turns, left then right then left again, working from a mental map. Coin felt the rhythm change as they climbed steps, heard the creak of a door, felt the shift from street air to the stillness of an enclosed space.

  Home base. Or close enough.

  The thief's breathing changed. He exhaled long and loose, tension bleeding off. Coin heard him move across the room—footsteps on wooden floor, the creak of furniture taking weight. A chair, maybe. The pocket shifted as the thief settled.

  Then the pocket opened and light flooded in.

  The thief upended his haul onto a table and Coin tumbled out with the rest of the day's work. A small pile spread across the wooden surface, glinting in the light from a window Coin couldn't see yet. Coin rolled to a stop against something metal.

  The thief leaned over the table, already reaching to sort his take. His fingers moved with purpose, separating items into invisible categories. A brass button got pushed to one side. A silver chain missing its clasp went to another spot. A ring that might be worth something stayed in the center.

  He picked up a few actual coins—the spending kind—and set them aside. Then his hand came back for Coin.

  He held Coin up to the light, squinting, turning Coin to catch the angle better.

  "Hi," Coin said.

  The thief went very still.

  He lowered Coin back to the table carefully, like he'd just realized he was holding something that might have opinions about being held, then sat back in his chair.

  His eyes stayed on Coin, sharp and calculating.

  "This going to be a problem?" he asked.

  PANIC: ABSENT.

  PROMISING.

  "No."

  The thief waited, watching.

  "Coin wants to see where stolen things go," Coin said.

  The tension in the thief's shoulders eased. Not gone, but diminishing. He was still calculating, still assessing, but the immediate concern was fading.

  A short laugh escaped, half disbelief, half relief. He leaned forward, studying Coin with different attention now. Curiosity, maybe. Interest, if Coin was being generous.

  "I'm Derric," he said.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Coin."

  "That's—is that actually your name, or is that just what you are?"

  "Yes."

  Derric snorted. He picked Coin up again, turned Coin over in his palm. "You want to see where stolen goods go. That means you want to meet my fence." He glanced at his haul, then back. "He's not going to like this. Doesn't do weird. Barely does risky."

  "Then it should be interesting."

  "It's probably just going to go badly." Derric tucked Coin into his pocket, gentler than the first time. "Let's find out."

  ASSESSMENT: ACCURATE.

  ENTERTAINMENT POTENTIAL: HIGH.

  ***

  The fence worked out of a pawn shop near the docks. Derric led the way through the front, past shelves of musical instruments and jewelry and anything else that could be bought for less than it was worth. The shopkeeper behind the counter didn't look up.

  They went through a door in the back, into a storage room lined with shelves and crates, a single table in the center where the real business happened. Coin heard the door close behind them.

  "You're early this week." The voice came from deeper in the room. Older. Harder.

  Derric's footsteps continued forward. "Got some things. Nothing special, but—"

  "Let's see."

  Derric moved to the table, boots scuffing against stone floor. Coin felt the angle shift as Derric started pulling items from his pockets. The brass button landed first with a small click. Then the silver chain, heavier, dragging slightly as it settled. The ring made almost no sound at all.

  Coin stayed still, waiting.

  Something scraped across wood—the fence pulling items closer, examining them. Metal clinked against metal as he shifted the chain.

  "Missing the clasp."

  "I know. Still silver though."

  "Half what I'd give for a complete piece." A pause. The sound of the ring being picked up, turned. "Might be worth something. Might not. Need to have it looked at."

  Standard negotiation. The fence was already calculating, already working out how little he could offer.

  Derric's hand went back into his pocket. Found Coin. Hesitated for just a second.

  Then he pulled Coin out and set Coin on the table.

  Silence.

  Coin rolled forward slightly, into better position. The light was dim—lanterns, maybe candles—but enough to catch Coin's surface.

  "Nice setup," Coin said.

  The silence stretched longer.

  Then movement, sudden and fast. A chair scraping back hard against stone. The fence stepping away from the table, putting distance between himself and whatever he'd just heard speak.

  Coin waited for the bluster. The demands, the threats, the posturing that humans did when something surprised them. The fence would talk to Derric about the coin on his table, explain why this was a problem, work himself up into something loud.

  The fence didn't say anything. He just kept backing away, breathing tight and controlled, until he hit the far wall.

  RECOGNITION: IMMEDIATE.

  FEAR: GENUINE.

  "Coin's just visiting," Coin said. "Wanted to see the operation."

  The fence's eyes stayed fixed on Coin. Not on Derric. On Coin.

  "I don't have anything you'd want." Every word came out careful. Measured. Like the wrong one might set something off. "I'm nobody. Small operation. Nothing worth your time."

  Derric shifted his weight, confused. "What are you—"

  "Quiet." The fence didn't look away from Coin. "Please. I need you to leave. Both of you. I can't—" His voice cracked slightly. "I don't have what you're looking for. Whatever it is. I don't have it."

  He thought Coin was here for something. Thought this was a shakedown, or a test, or the start of something terrible. The fear in his voice wasn't the entertaining kind. It wasn't the drunk's delusion or the specialist's overconfidence. This was a man who knew just enough to be terrified.

  PRIOR ENCOUNTER: EVIDENT.

  OUTCOME: IT WENT BADLY.

  "Coin told you," Coin said. "Just visiting."

  The fence didn't move from the wall. "Please. I need you to leave. Both of you. I won't tell anyone. I don't want trouble. I just want you gone."

  Derric glanced down at Coin, then back at the fence. He was watching a conversation in a language he didn't speak.

  "Take your goods, Derric." The fence's voice had gone soft. Almost kind. "The chain, the ring, whatever you brought. Find another buyer. Don't come back here until—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Just don't come back for a while."

  Derric pocketed Coin and moved toward the door. Fast, but not quite running. Behind them, Coin heard the fence muttering something under his breath. Words that might have been a prayer or might have been a ward.

  ***

  Derric didn't stop walking until they were several blocks away from the pawn shop. Coin felt the pace slow, felt Derric turn into what was probably an alley based on how the street sounds faded.

  Then he pulled Coin out.

  Evening light, orange and fading. Derric held Coin up, looking at Coin with an expression caught between frustration and calculation.

  "That went well," Coin said.

  Derric snorted. "He banned me. Do you know how hard it is to find a fence who pays decent?"

  "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

  Derric turned Coin over in his palm, examining Coin in the fading light. The city moved around them—voices, footsteps, the distant sound of a cart on cobblestones. Normal evening sounds.

  "I have a job planned," he said. "Small one. Tomorrow night."

  OPPORTUNITY: EMERGING.

  Coin waited.

  "Merchant's house. Edge of the Brass District. He's away until the end of the week, and he keeps his strongbox in the study." Derric's voice had shifted, steadying into something more familiar. His ground. His expertise. "I've already cased it. Clean entry, clean exit. Should take an hour, maybe less."

  He turned Coin over in his hand, watching the light play across the surface.

  "You wanted to see where stolen goods go. Maybe you should see where they come from first."

  The offer hung between them. Derric wasn't asking for help. Wasn't asking for permission. He was offering something—a trade, a test, a continuation of whatever had started when he'd lifted Coin from the orange cart.

  Coin caught the last of the evening light, held it, threw it back.

  "Coin's in."