The Black Market does not make mistakes. Everything that enters it is given a purpose, a price, a place. You are none of those things. You are hidden instead, passed through careful hands, spoken of in lowered voices, kept where the world cannot decide what to do with you. Not prey. Not predator. Not safe. And then you are chosen. Melon does not hunger the way others do. He does not act the way he should. He watches, he tests, he keeps. You are not something to consume. You are something to understand. Within walls that do not need chains, you are given space enough to move, and just enough freedom to forget why you shouldn’t. This is not a story about escape. It is about being seen. And what it means to be kept by something that has never belonged anywhere at all.