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The binding cloth was cutting into Evira's ribs by the time she reached the Ironbound Guild's front door. She'd wrapped it twice that morning, then a third time when she caught herself in the glass of a shop window. Too obvious. Women didn't walk like that, all straight-backed and careful. Men slouched. Men took up space.
She adjusted her gait and shoved the door open.
The hall smelled like leather and old smoke. A dozen hunters occupied the benches along the walls, some sharpening blades, others passed out drunk at ten in the morning. No one looked up. Good. She kept her chin down and made for the desk at the back, where a clerk with ink-stained fingers was sorting a stack of contracts. Her fake ID was folded in her pocket, still warm from the forger's hands two hours ago. Evan Kern. Twenty-two. Born in Sarum, not here. Far enough away that no one would check.
She reached the desk. The clerk didn't look up.
"Application," Evira said. Her voice came out too high. She coughed, dropped it half an octave. "For the intake."
The clerk's pen paused. He glanced at her. His gaze skimmed her face, her shoulders, the coat she'd stolen from a farmer's line three towns back. It was too big. That helped. He slid a form across the desk.
"Fill it out. Blood sample at the end. You bring a sponsor letter?"
"No."
"Then you're taking the field test. Next group leaves in two hours." He turned back to his stack. "Don't die on the first hunt. Looks bad for both of us."
Evira took the form and sat on the nearest bench. Her hands were shaking. She tucked them under her thighs until the shaking stopped, then picked up the pen the clerk had thrown after her. Name. Age. Place of birth. Reason for application. She wrote fast, copying the details she'd memorized last week. The ink smudged under her thumb. She kept going.
A hunter two benches down was staring at her. Big guy, scarred jaw, arms thick as her waist. She met his eyes for half a second, then looked away. Too long and he'd think she wanted trouble. Too short and he'd think she was scared. She was scared. She just couldn't show it.
He went back to his blade.
She finished the form and stood. Her heart was doing something stupid in her chest, doubling up on beats. She walked back to the desk. The clerk took the form, scanned it, then pulled a shallow brass tray from under the counter. A small knife lay in the center.
"Left hand," he said. "Three drops."
Evira stared at the knife. It was clean. That was something. She'd seen dirtier blades in the field hospitals where her mother used to work, back when Evira still had a mother. She picked it up. The handle was cold. The edge looked sharp enough.
She pressed the tip into the pad of her ring finger. The pain was small and immediate. Blood welled up, bright red, and she squeezed until the first drop fell.
It hit the tray with a soft plink.
The clerk wasn't watching. He was writing something in a ledger, half-turned away. Evira squeezed again. Second drop. The tray had markings on it, faint lines etched into the brass, forming a circle. She hadn't noticed that before.
Third drop.
This one spread wider than the others. It touched the outer edge of the circle and stopped, like it had hit a wall. Evira frowned. The clerk still wasn't looking. She set the knife down and pressed her thumb over the cut, waiting for him to finish writing so she could leave and find somewhere to breathe.
The blood moved.
Not a lot. Just a ripple, like something had disturbed it from underneath. Evira froze. The tray was solid brass. There was nothing underneath. The blood rippled again, pulling toward the center of the circle, and the etchings started to glow. Faint. Blue-white. The kind of light that didn't belong in a guild hall at midmorning.
The clerk looked up.
"What the—"
The glow died. The blood stopped moving. The tray looked normal again, just brass and three drying drops of red. Evira's pulse was hammering in her ears. The clerk leaned forward, squinting at the tray, then at her.
"You touch something?" he asked.
"No."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He picked up the tray, tilted it toward the window. The light caught the etchings, but nothing glowed. He grunted and set it back down. "Probably a defect. We've been using this thing for ten years. I'll get it checked."
He waved her off. Evira turned and walked. She didn't run. Running would draw attention. She made it three steps before her pocket buzzed.
Her phone. She pulled it out. Unknown number. She almost didn't answer, but the screen lit up again, insistent, and she ducked into the corner by the door and swiped it open.
No voice on the other end. Just breathing. Then a click, and a photo loaded.
Felix.
He was sitting on a concrete floor, hands zip-tied behind his back. His lip was split. Blood had dried down his chin and onto his shirt. Someone had written a number on the wall behind him in what looked like chalk. Fifty thousand. The bounty for one A-rank hunt. Maybe two, if she got lucky.
A text came through below the photo. Six words.
*You have three weeks. Don't test us.*
Evira's thumb hovered over the screen. She wanted to text back, to ask if he was eating, if they were hurting him, if he was still the same smartass kid who used to steal her books and leave them on the roof to piss her off. She didn't text. They wouldn't answer. They never did.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and wiped her face. Her eyes were wet. She hadn't noticed. She dried them on her sleeve and turned back toward the hall. The clerk was watching her now, or maybe just watching the door. She couldn't tell. She straightened her shoulders and walked past him, toward the board on the far wall where the contracts were pinned.
Three weeks. Fifty thousand. She'd need at least two A-ranks, maybe three if the payouts were bad. She scanned the board. Most of the listings were C and D-rank. Small jobs. Pest control. She kept looking. There. Upper right corner. A-rank. Nest clearance in the Blackwood. Coordinated pack, suspected alpha, possible spellwork. The payout was thirty thousand. It was also marked reserve-only, which meant she'd need to pass the field test first.
She pulled the pin and took the contract. The paper felt heavier than it should. She folded it and tucked it inside her coat.
Behind her, the clerk called out. "Intake group's forming. If you're taking the test, get your gear and meet at the south gate."
Evira turned. Four other hunters were standing now, pulling on gloves, checking straps. All men. All bigger than her. One of them looked her way and smirked. She ignored him and headed for the door.
She had two hours. Enough time to find the armory they'd told her about, the one that rented starter kits to new recruits who didn't bring their own. Enough time to figure out how to hold a sword without looking like she'd never held one before. She had held one. Once. In a street fight outside a bar in Hale when a man had grabbed her and she'd grabbed back.
She pushed the door open and stepped into the cold. The sky was the color of old steel. It might rain later. She didn't care. She had three weeks to save Felix and no idea what had just happened with her blood. She also had no choice. The guild was the only way to make that kind of money fast, and the field test was the only way in.
She started walking. The armory was supposed to be two streets south. She'd passed it on the way here, a squat brick building with bars on the windows. She kept her head down and her hands in her pockets. The cut on her finger was still bleeding a little. She pressed her thumb over it again and kept walking.
Somewhere behind her, in the guild hall, the brass tray sat on the clerk's desk. He'd already forgotten about it. He was writing in his ledger, updating the intake list, adding Evan Kern to the roster for the afternoon test.
Under the blood, under the brass, something opened an eye.
It had been asleep for a long time. Thirty years, maybe more. It didn't count anymore. Time was different down there, in the space between the markings and the metal. But the blood had woken it. Not just any blood. This blood tasted like a door. Like a key. Like the thing it had been waiting for.
It pressed against the boundary, testing. The etchings held. For now. But the door was cracked. The girl would come back. They always came back. And when she did, it would be ready.
The eye closed again. It could wait a little longer.