The flickering gas lamps cast long, distorted shadows that danced with the swirling dust motes in the alleyways. I pressed closer to the wall, the rough brick scratching against my worn leather jacket. My ears strained, trying to decipher the hushed conversations that slithered through the crowded market. Each word, each exchanged glance, felt heavy with unspoken intentions. I was no longer just a scavenger looking for lost memories; I was a detective, piecing together a puzzle far more intricate than I'd ever imagined.

My initial impression of the Memory Market as a chaotic free-for-all was proving naive. Beneath the surface of frenzied trading and whispered bargains lay a meticulously crafted system, a complex web of alliances and betrayals. I had noticed patterns, subtle shifts in power dynamics that hinted at something far more sinister than simple profit-seeking.