Chapter 1: The Midnight Market

In order to support my husband’s studies, I secretly sell rare insects at the midnight market. The market sprawled behind the old feed store, where folks hawked everything from moonshine to hand-carved duck decoys, and the air always smelled faintly of gasoline and fried dough.

Tonight, under the sickly glow of string lights, I watched as a stranger strode up to my table, his footsteps muffled by the dust and stray leaves. He wanted to buy something that would make a woman infertile.

Though his face was hidden behind a cheap plastic mask—one of those you’d find at a last-minute Halloween pop-up—I recognized him instantly, in the way you just know your own. My heart stuttered, the way it does when you spot your reflection in a window and, for a second, don’t recognize yourself. This man was my husband.

"Got anything that’ll make sure a woman can’t have kids? Permanently?"

The man crouched before me, hands jammed into the front pocket of a worn black hoodie. The Halloween mask was lopsided on his face, and his voice came out gravelly, as if he’d practiced sounding like someone else. But he couldn’t fake the way he squared his shoulders, or the nervous flicker in his stance.

"It must not harm the woman’s health, only prevent her from having children."

He half-squatted in front of my stall, trying to look casual but somehow managing to project a strange dignity, the kind you see in someone who’s never really belonged to crowds like this. His sneakers, scuffed and muddy, tapped anxiously against the sidewalk.

I blinked, caught off guard, a cold knot tightening in my gut. It was Caleb Foster, no doubt about it—my husband. Even in the mismatched clothes and under that cheap mask, I’d know his build anywhere.

Shouldn’t he be back at Ridgeview College, buried in textbooks or huddled over some late-night coffee in the student library? What on earth was he doing at this sketchy midnight market, asking me for something so dark?

My silence seemed to disappoint him. He hunched his shoulders, voice trembling with the edge of hope and shame.

"Don’t have it?"

"They say your insects are the most powerful in the entire market."

I forced down the panic boiling inside and nodded, keeping my expression neutral, as if this were just another business transaction.

"Yes."

"Do you want the woman to be infertile for life, or just for a few years?"

Caleb startled—his hands clenched at his sides. He hesitated, glanced sideways as though afraid someone might overhear, then replied quietly:

"For life."

"But remember, her health must not be harmed."

Why would he want something so heartless? The man I knew was gentle, earnest. Could this be for a friend? I chewed at my bottom lip, mind racing. We’d been together two years—married for nearly all of it. Always honest, or so I thought. Yet in this moment, it struck me that I might not know him at all.

"Do you have the woman’s birth date?"

He paused, lifted his head just enough for me to catch a glint of his brown eyes through the mask, wary and probing.

I’d layered my own disguise well—a simple ballcap and fake glasses, my hair pulled back. I wasn’t worried about him recognizing me; the market was full of shadows and secrets.

"Why do you need her birth date to set this up?"