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"You're coming with me." Mara's hand locked around my wrist before I could pocket the key. "Now."
I tried to pull back. Her grip tightened. The brass key in my other hand was still warm, still humming, and the black mark over her chest hadn't faded. It pulsed faint under her coat, like a second heartbeat.
"Let go," I said.
"Not a chance." She dragged me toward the door. "You just shoved contraband into my hand and nearly got me killed. You're explaining that to my captain, not to me."
"Your captain's not going to listen."
"Then you'll explain it to a cell." She shoved the door open with her shoulder. Cold air hit us both. The street outside was empty, too empty for this hour. The lamps flickered. One went out.
I dug my heels in. "Mara. Stop."
"Inspector Quinn."
"Fine. Inspector." I yanked my wrist free and held up the key. "See this? It's the only thing keeping that mark off your heart. You walk me into your precinct, and it's going to crack. You know what happens when a seal cracks?"
She stared at the key, then at me. Her jaw was tight. "You're lying."
"Try me."
She reached for her belt. I thought she was going for cuffs. Instead, she pulled out a folded paper, creased down the middle, and shoved it at my chest. "This is your shutdown order. Signed this morning. Your shop's been flagged for unsanctioned curse work, and you're under investigation for—"
"I know what it says." I didn't take it. "Doesn't change what's on you."
Her hand didn't drop. The paper shook, just a little. "Then fix it."
"I can't."
"You just said the key's keeping it off me."
"It's keeping it contained. That's not the same thing." I stepped back. She followed. "The mark's already in. I can slow it down, but I can't pull it out. Not here. Not without tools."
"Then we go back inside."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because whoever opened that split is still watching, and if they see you with me, you're dead." I glanced past her. The street was still too quiet. No cars. No footsteps. Just the hum of the lamps and the faint crackle of something wrong in the air. "We need to move."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Then stay here and wait for the next surge." I turned and started walking. I made it three steps before she grabbed my collar and slammed me into the nearest wall.
"You don't get to walk away," she said. Her face was inches from mine. Her breath was sharp, fast. "You don't get to put that thing on me and then leave."
"I didn't put it on you." I kept my voice low. "You walked into the split. I pulled you out. You want to blame someone, blame the guy who opened it."
"And who's that?"
"I don't know yet."
"Convenient."
"It's the truth."
She leaned in closer. I could feel the heat coming off her, could see the pulse in her throat. The mark on her chest flickered. The key in my hand started to burn.
"Let go," I said.
She didn't.
The key flared. She gasped and stumbled back, clutching her chest. The mark had spread, just a fraction, black lines creeping up toward her collarbone.
"What the hell was that?" she said.
"That was you pushing it." I held up the key. It was glowing now, faint red along the teeth. "The more you fight, the faster it moves. You want it out, you need to calm down."
"Calm down?" Her voice cracked. "You just—"
"I just kept it from taking your heart." I stepped toward her. She backed up. "You don't have to trust me. But you need to listen."
She stared at me. Her hand was still on her chest. I could see her weighing it, calculating the risk, the angles, the ways this could go wrong.
Then she pulled out her comm and tapped it once.
I grabbed her wrist. "Don't."
"I'm calling it in."
"You call it in, and they'll pull you off the street. They'll quarantine you, maybe worse. You know the protocol."
She hesitated. The comm screen lit her face, pale and sharp. "How do you know the protocol?"
"Because I've seen it before."
"When?"
I didn't answer.
She lowered the comm but didn't put it away. "If you're lying to me—"
"I'm not."
"Then prove it." She held out her hand. "Give me the key."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you'll break it."
"I won't."
"You will." I pocketed the key. "You don't know how to hold it. You'll snap the seal, and the mark'll spread before I can stop it."
Her jaw tightened. "So what, I'm just supposed to follow you around and hope you don't screw me over?"
"Pretty much."
She looked at me like she wanted to hit me. I didn't blame her.
Then the lamp above us went out. The one across the street followed. The hum I'd been hearing got louder, sharper, like something grinding against metal.
Mara looked up. "What is that?"
"Surge." I grabbed her arm. "We need to go."
"Go where?"
"Anywhere that's not here."
The ground shook. Not hard, just enough to feel. A crack split the pavement between us and the shop, thin and black, glowing faint at the edges.
Mara pulled her gun. "What the hell is that?"
"Dead zone." I pulled her toward the alley. "Move."
She didn't argue this time. We ran.
The crack followed us. I could hear it spreading, a wet tearing sound like something ripping through fabric. The air got colder. My breath fogged. Mara's hand was on my shoulder, steadying herself as we turned the corner.
"Where are we going?" she said.
"My sister's place."
"Why there?"
"Because it's warded."
"Warded how?"
"The kind that keeps dead zones out."
We hit the end of the alley. I slowed, checked the street. Empty. The crack hadn't followed us around the corner yet, but I could still hear it, faint and wrong.
Mara leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Her hand was still on her chest. The mark was glowing now, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
"It's getting worse," she said.
"I know."
"How long do I have?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On how much you keep pushing it." I pulled the key out. It was hot now, almost too hot to hold. "And on whether I can find the anchor."
"The what?"
"The thing that opened the split. Every curse has an anchor. You find it, you can pull the whole thing apart." I looked at her. "But I need time."
"How much time?"
"A day. Maybe two."
She laughed, sharp and bitter. "I don't have two days."
"Then we'd better move fast."
She pushed off the wall and reached into her coat. I tensed. She pulled out the shutdown order, the one she'd tried to hand me earlier, and looked at it for a long moment.
Then she tore it in half.
"What are you doing?" I said.
She tore it again, smaller pieces, and let them fall. "Buying you time."
One of the pieces landed face-up near my foot. I crouched and picked it up. It wasn't the shutdown order. It was something else, something older, printed on different paper. A seal, black ink on yellow parchment, burned at the edges.
I recognized the mark. I'd seen it once before, in my father's notes.
"Where did you get this?" I said.
Mara looked down. Her face went pale. "That's not mine."
"It was in your coat."
"No. I had the order. Just the order." She bent and grabbed the other pieces, spreading them out. The shutdown order was there, torn and scattered. But so was the seal. "I don't—I didn't—"
I held up the seal. The ink was still fresh. "This is your father's mark."
She stared at me. "How do you know that?"
"Because he used to work with mine."
The key in my hand started to turn. Not in my grip—on its own, teeth clicking against my palm, orienting toward something I couldn't see.
Mara saw it too. "What's it doing?"
"Pointing." I held it up. The key swung east, steady and sure, toward the old district. Toward the rows of abandoned houses the city had sealed off three years ago after the last surge.
Toward the Quinn house.
"No," Mara said. "No, that place is condemned."
"The key doesn't care."
She grabbed my wrist. The key kept turning, dragging both our hands with it, pulling east like a compass locked on north.
"Adrian." Her voice was tight. "My father died in that house."
I looked at her. The mark on her chest was spreading again, black lines reaching toward her throat.
"Then I guess we're going to find out why," I said.
The key clicked one more time and went still, pointing straight ahead.
Something in the distance groaned, low and metallic, like a door swinging open.