[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-saya-and-the-dragon":3,"chapter-saya-and-the-dragon-saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-145":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Saya and the Dragon",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1705132,2177,"Chapter 139: Marketplace Crime","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-145",145,"\u003Cp>Market days are a blessing. So many smells. So many wallets. So many people not watching theirstuff.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I’m dressed the part—short cream tunic, respectable but clingy, little embroidered shawl just barely hanging off my elbows like I forgot how sleeves work. Slippers with ribbon ties. Hair in a lazy twist. Modest earrings. Just enough charm to pass as a minor merchant’s niece, maybe. Or a very tidy laundress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not rich.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not poor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Definitely not a threat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Which is exactly what makes me dangerous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stroll. Smile. Tilt my head at the baklava stand. Pretend to compare prices at the spice cart. My fingers, meanwhile, are doing very different things behind my back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A plum drops into my shawl’s fold. A coin purse vanishes from a belt loop. One linen-wrapped cheese wheel slides into my basket when the merchant turns to haggle with someone louder. All harmless things. All things they probablymeantto misplace.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then I see him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Real pickpocket. Sloppy. Young. Lifting a coin purse from a flower vendor so clumsily it’s almost sweet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I raise my voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Hey! That boy just stole your purse!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Heads whip. Someone shouts. The boy bolts like a scared rat through the crowd.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chaos.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shouting. Running. Pigeons exploding into the air. The flower vendor knocks over a crate of pomegranates and everyone loses their minds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And me?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I just step sideways. One jar of fig preserves—mine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A bolt of dyed ribbon left unwatched—mine too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A small silver spoon. Don’t ask why. I liked the curve of it. Into the bag it goes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By the time things calm down, the boy is long gone. People are muttering about youth these days and loose morals and how the guards never doanything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I’m already strolling toward the exit, chewing on a stolen fig and smiling politely at a cluster of gossiping matrons. One of them even nods at me. Respectable girl, that one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If only they knew.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But that’s the beauty of market days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone’s looking at the spectacle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one’s looking atme.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Half an hour later, I’m in a side street shaded by laundry lines and sun-bleached shutters. Quiet. Smells like dust and stew.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I’m leaning against the wall, one slipper half-off my heel, licking fig preserves off that pretty silver spoon like it’s the crown jewel of culinary delight. The jar’s half-empty already. I’m not even pretending to use bread.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he stumbles in—the boy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Same scruffy mop of hair, still breathing hard, still clutching that sad little stolen purse like it’s gold. He freezes when he sees me. Blinks. Points.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You!” he shouts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I grin mid-spoonful. “Me.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He walks up, suspicious. “You sold me out.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I saved your sorry ass,” I reply, popping another spoonful of fig into my mouth. “Whole crowd focused on you. Not a soul looked at me. So really—thank you.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He scowls. “That’s low.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I shrug. “That’sstrategy.You’ve got a lot to learn, boy.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looks like he wants to argue, but he’s too tired. Or maybe too impressed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As I turn to leave, I dig into my basket, pull out the linen-wrapped cheese wheel. Still cool from the shade of the spice stand. Probably expensive. I toss it to him underhand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Here,” I say. “You earned it. Barely.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He catches it, fumbles it, almost drops it. “Why?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I smirk. “Because I like underdogs. And because I already got the better haul.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I wink and walk away, licking fig from my finger. Behind me, the boy just stands there, blinking, holding cheese like it’s treasure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’ll figure it out. Or he won’t.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Either way—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>not my problem.\u003C\u002Fp>",595,"2026-06-06T14:39:25.900Z",1,"novelbin.me","8853cbec553b0b558a3f3696943f3a3e450c05b277ac3ecb5b34796e21c9f82a","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-146","saya-and-the-dragon-chapter-144",228,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fsaya-and-the-dragon-cover.jpg"]