They’d taken four girls that morning. No one had stopped it. No one ever did.
Allora fixed her eyes on a knot in the barn wall and counted her breaths. In. Out. Don’t shake.
Then she heard it.
“Three.”
Not shouted. Not eager.
Just said.
Heads turned. A tall man stepped forward from the shadows. Long coat dusted pale from the road. Hat low. Not smiling. Not leering.
He walked straight to the platform and dropped three silver coins into the auctioneer’s palm.
“I claim nothing,” he said.
The barn went still.
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