Ember crouched behind the silk display, her fingers tracing the familiar weave as she watched her father confront Markus Blackwood and his three fellow merchants. They’d stormed in minutes before, sending the lunch hour crowd scattering.


    “You’re destroying everything we’ve built,” Blackwood said, face darkening. “Undercutting prices, stealing contracts-”


    “I’ve explained this, Markus.” Her father kept his voice level, but his hands were locked behind his back. “My eastern suppliers-”


    “Lies!” One of Blackwood’s men struck the counter. The impact rattled the display pieces. “No one gets silk that cheap legitimately.”


    Near the door, a customer gathered her things and slipped out, the shop bell marking her escape. Two others followed close behind.


    “My trading relationships are my business,” Thomas said. “Perhaps if you spent more time cultivating partnerships instead of throwing accusations-”


    Blackwood pressed forward until his chest met the counter’s edge. “You think you’re clever, Fletcher? Think you can hide behind pretty words while you drive us into the ground?”


    “I’m hiding nothing.” Thomas stepped back, a slight tremor visible in his hands.


    “No?” Blackwood’s quiet tone made Ember’s throat tighten. “Then explain how you’re selling Kashyari silk at half what it costs to import.”


    The last customer fled, leaving only the merchants and the weight of their threats hanging in the air. Blackwood’s expensive cologne couldn’t mask the anger-sweat beneath it.


    “My methods are legitimate,” Thomas said. “I’ve shown the guild my records-”


    “Records can be falsified,” another merchant cut in, moving beside Blackwood. “We’ve built this market for decades, Fletcher. Did you think we’d just stand by while you destroyed it?”


    Her father’s jaw clenched as the merchants crowded closer. Sunlight streamed through the windows, harsh and revealing.


    “I won’t apologize for running a successful business,” Thomas said, strain cracking through his composed facade.


    Blackwood leaned in. “Success built on theft and lies isn’t success at all, Fletcher. And men who steal from their fellows often find themselves facing… unfortunate accidents.”


    “Is that a threat, Markus?”


    “A reminder.” Blackwood’s lips curled, cold and cruel. “About how dangerous this business can be for those who don’t understand their proper place in it.”


    The silk bunched in Ember’s grip as her hands shook. She wanted to run to her father, to scream at these men to leave him alone, but fear kept her hidden, forced to watch as the confrontation played out before her.


    The silk displays trembled as the merchant’s fist struck the counter. “You peddle lies and call it merchandise, Fletcher!”


    Ember emerged from behind the silk-draped table. “Every bolt of silk in this shop has proper guild seals,” she said, her voice tight. “I’ve seen them myself.”


    “A child’s eyes see what they wish,” sneered another merchant, fidgeting with his ill-fitted doublet. “Leave business to those who understand it.”


    “I track our inventory and check the ledgers daily,” Ember said. Her hands shook, but she clasped them behind her back. “And I know enough to spot cotton thread in your ‘pure’ moon-weave borders.”


    The third merchant shifted closer, rings catching the light. “Mind your place, girl. Your father’s contacts won’t last forever.”


    “Contacts?” A harsh laugh escaped her. “Father lived among the Kashyari weavers. He knows every step from cocoon to finished bolt. When’s the last time you set foot in a silk house?”


    The merchants exchanged glances, their practiced smiles slipping.


    “Since you mention legitimate trade,” Ember said, “explain the cotton backing in your last shipment. Real Kashyari silk never uses cotton - any apprentice could tell you that.”


    Color flooded Blackwood’s face. “You question my goods? I’ve traded silk longer than you’ve drawn breath.”


    “Yet you still overpay for river-silk thinking it’s mountain-weave. The eastern merchants laugh about it.” She tapped a nearby bolt. “Father pays less because he can tell the difference.”The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    “Watch yourself, girl-” one of Blackwood’s men started forward.


    “The contracts are here!” She gestured to the shop’s office. “Every seal authentic. Father deals with the guilds directly - no middlemen padding the price.”


    Thomas reached for her arm but she sidestepped, words tumbling out. “The weavers trust him because he respects their craft. He doesn’t treat them like common street vendors!”


    Blackwood’s neck flushed dark. “You let this child-”


    “I speak because I know silk,” Ember cut in. “Including how you tried passing off common weave as moon-silk last month. The pattern was wrong - I spotted it myself.”


    A merchant lunged, hand rising. Thomas intercepted him in one fluid motion, shoving him back with practiced ease.


    Boot steps announced the arrival of a city guard, his hand resting casually on his sword. “All well here?”


    The merchants withdrew, straightening clothes with sharp tugs. Only Blackwood remained, studying Ember until she pressed back against the displays.


    “We’re done,” he said softly. “Though Fletcher, your daughter should learn caution. Sharp words have consequences in our trade.”


    The guard’s fingers drummed his sword hilt. “Careful how you phrase that, Master Blackwood.”


    “Simply advice.” Blackwood paused at the door. “Youth can be… fragile.”


    The guard lingered until the merchants vanished, then nodded to Thomas. “I’ll be nearby.”


    As the steps faded, Thomas squeezed her shoulder. Her heart still raced, and Blackwood’s stare made her want to hide beneath the counter. But she was tired of their false accusations, tired of watching Father absorb their jabs with polite smiles. She leaned into his touch, glad she’d found her voice, even as her hands trembled at the memory of that cold, measuring look.


    As the door closed behind the guard, Thomas knelt before Ember and drew her close. She trembled against him, her small frame rigid with defiance. His hands found her shoulders, steadying them both.


    “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the door where Blackwood and his men had just stood.


    “They were insulting our whole family,” Ember burst out, her fists clenched. “Calling us cheats and thieves in our own shop!”


    “Lower your voice,” Thomas warned, glancing at the windows. “The streets have ears.”


    Ember studied her father’s face, so different from the pleasant mask he wore while conducting business. The hardness in his eyes made her throat tight.


    “They were lying about you,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “About everything.”


    Thomas caught her hand in his. “I know.” He smoothed down her tangled hair, the gesture betraying his unease. “But those men… they’re dangerous, Ember.”


    “You always taught me to stand up for what’s right,” she insisted. “To be proud of our work.”


    “There’s a difference between pride and survival,” he said, his voice rough. “These aren’t common thugs we’re dealing with.”


    “But your contracts are fair, your silk is better-”


    “Stop.” He pulled her close, and she felt his heart pounding against her cheek. The familiar sandalwood of his clothes mixed with fresh sweat.


    “When did you become afraid of them?” she whispered against his chest.


    His fingers tightened in her hair. “The day I realized what they could take from me.”


    “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just couldn’t stand it.”


    “No.” His arms tightened. “You did nothing wrong. You stood up for the truth.” He drew back to look at her, his expression grim. “But men like that, they don’t care about truth. They care about power.”


    In the hearth, a log crackled and settled. The shop felt smaller somehow, its familiar corners darker.


    “What will they do?” Ember asked, voicing the fear that had finally caught up with her anger.


    Thomas stroked her hair. “Nothing we can’t handle.” But uncertainty threaded through his words, and Ember pressed closer as afternoon shadows crept across the shop floor.


    Evening light filtered through the shop windows, catching on the silk bolts lining the walls. Thomas Fletcher leaned against the counter, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.


    “I had to pay them,” he said, voice low. “The city guards.” His fingers traced the counter’s worn surface. “Never thought I’d see the day. Though thank the gods they were here when Markus and his lot showed up.”


    Sarah squeezed his shoulders, though he felt the slight tremor in her touch. “You did what was necessary. If they hadn’t been nearby when the shouting started…”


    “Did I?” Thomas barked out a laugh that made Ember flinch behind the silk display. “Everything I’ve taught our daughter about honest trade…” He exhaled sharply. “And here I am, paying guards to protect my own child from other merchants.”


    “Thomas-”


    “You should have seen the guild meeting.” Bitterness edged his words. “They gave Markus a public reprimand. Scolded him about aggressive business practices.” He shook his head. “Might as well have challenged him outright.”


    Sarah’s hands stilled. “He didn’t take it well?”


    “As well as you’d expect from a man like him. Each word just made it worse.” Thomas’s knuckles whitened against the counter. “This isn’t about business anymore. It’s personal. The way he looked at Ember today, before the guard stepped in…”


    “Surely Guildmaster Aldrich-”


    “Aldrich?” Thomas cut her off. “He offered sympathetic words, nothing more. Markus has Lord Pembroke, the Blackthorn family, half the northern merchants…” His voice tightened. “What chance do we stand against that?”


    Ember pulled her knees closer, making herself smaller behind the silk rack. She’d never heard such defeat in her father’s voice before.


    “We’ve worked so hard,” Thomas said softly. “Built everything honestly. Fair prices, quality goods, straight dealings.” Something broke in his voice. “None of that matters to the right people with the right connections.”


    Sarah moved to face him, gripping his hands. “We’ll find a way through this.”


    “Will we?” Thomas met her gaze, fear plain in his eyes. “They’re not just threatening the business anymore, Sarah. Today they nearly-” He stopped short, glancing toward where Ember hid.


    The shop grew darker as they stood there, holding each other. Ember stayed hidden, watching her parents seek comfort in one another’s arms, understanding with sudden clarity that some enemies couldn’t be faced with honest words and fair dealings.