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"Don't scream."
The man in the elevator is holding his throat with both hands. Blood comes through his fingers, black under the emergency light. He's propped against the back wall like someone dumped him there.
I should hit the button. Go back up. Forget I saw this.
"Your mother," he says. His voice is rough, barely there. "Celeste Vale. You look just like her."
I freeze. My hand's still on the door.
"What did you just say?"
He tilts his head back. The light catches his face. Sharp jaw. Expensive haircut. Blood all down the front of his white shirt. And something else—a black line running up the side of his neck, thin as a tattoo, crawling toward his jaw.
It's moving.
"You're Nora," he says. Not a question. "She talked about you. Said you were stubborn."
My throat goes tight. Nobody's said my mom's name out loud in three years. Not since she disappeared.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Kael Mercer." He tries to straighten up. The black line pulses. He winces. "And I'm dying. So if you're going to run, do it now."
I should. I really, really should.
But he said her name.
"What happened to you?"
"Auction upstairs went bad." He shifts his hands. There's a wound in his neck, ragged, like something bit him. "Curse mark. Someone paid to have me killed the old way."
"Old way?"
"Blood magic." He laughs, sharp and bitter. "The kind your mother used to break."
My stomach drops.
"My mom was a bartender."
"Your mom," Kael says, "was a lot of things. And if she taught you even half of what she knew, you can see what's on my neck."
I look closer. The black line isn't ink. It's under his skin, pulsing like a vein, branching toward his face.
"That's not a tattoo."
"No. It's a death mark." His voice is getting quieter. "Hits the brain, I'm done. Maybe ten minutes."
"Then call someone. A doctor. Your people."
"My people," he says, "are the ones who put it there."
The elevator shudders. We're still stuck between floors.
Kael's breathing is getting worse. The line on his neck just hit the edge of his jaw.
"Why tell me this?"
"Because," he says, "you're Celeste's daughter. And you've got her lighter."
My hand goes to my pocket. The obsidian lighter. The only thing she left behind.
"How do you know about that?"
"She used it to break a contract once." His eyes lock on mine. They're gray, cold, but there's something desperate underneath. "Obsidian conducts. Burns clean. If you hit the mark hard enough, it'll transfer."
"Transfer where?"
"To you."
I step back.
"Absolutely not."
"It won't kill you," he says quickly. "Not if I take it back within seven days. But it'll break the bind long enough for me to get out of here."
"And if you don't take it back?"
He doesn't answer.
The line hits the corner of his mouth. His hand drops.
"Damn it," I whisper.
I don't know this man. I don't owe him anything. He could be lying about all of it.
But he knew her name. He knew about the lighter.
And if he dies in this elevator, I'll never know what he knows.
"If I do this," I say, "you tell me everything. Where you knew her. What she was doing. Why she disappeared."
"Deal." He's slumping. "Do it now."
I pull out the lighter. It's warm in my hand. It's always warm.
"Where do I hit?"
"Base of the mark. Hard as you can."
I kneel next to him. The black line is spreading faster now, threading toward his eye. His pulse is jumping under his skin.
"This is insane," I mutter.
"Completely," he says. "Do it anyway."
I press the flat edge of the lighter against the mark where it starts, just above his collarbone. It's hot. The lighter flares, sharp and bright, and the black line recoils like something alive.
Kael sucks in a breath. His hand clamps around my wrist.
"Don't stop."
I push harder. The heat climbs up my arm, burning under my skin. The mark twists, pulls away from him, and then it moves.
It jumps.
Pain rips through my wrist, sharp and cold and wrong. I yank back, and the lighter hits the floor. There's a black line on the inside of my wrist now, thin and pulsing, crawling toward my elbow.
"What the hell!" I'm on my feet, shaking my arm like I can throw it off.
Kael's breathing steadier now. The mark on his neck is gone. He wipes the blood off his throat, and the skin underneath is clean. No wound. Like it was never there.
"You said it wouldn't kill me!"
"It won't." He stands up, smooth and controlled, like he wasn't dying thirty seconds ago. "Not if I take it back in seven days."
"You didn't say it would hurt!"
"You didn't ask." He picks up the lighter and hands it to me. His fingers brush mine. They're cold. "Thank you."
I snatch the lighter back.
"You're going to take this thing off me. Right now."
"Can't." He hits the elevator button. The doors slide open. We're on the ground floor. "Mark needs time to reset. Twenty-four hours minimum, or it'll kill us both when I pull it back."
The black line is halfway to my elbow now.
"Twenty-four hours?"
"Seven days," he corrects. "That's how long the contract runs. I take it back on the seventh night, and you're free."
"And if you die before then?"
"Then the mark finishes on you instead." He steps out of the elevator. "So let's make sure I don't die."
I follow him, because what else am I supposed to do? The line is burning under my skin.
"Where are you going?"
"Safehouse. Three blocks north." He glances back. "You're coming with me."
"Like hell I am."
"You've got my death mark," Kael says. "Which means the people hunting me are hunting you now. You go home, they'll find your brother in an hour."
Milo.
My chest goes tight.
"You're lying."
"I'm not." He stops, turns, looks me dead in the eye. "They know who you are the second that mark moved. And they know exactly how to make you cooperate."
The lighter is hot in my hand. My wrist is on fire.
"Who are they?"
"Hunters," Kael says. "The same ones who came after your mother."
The world tilts.
"You know what happened to her."
"I know who took her." He starts walking again. "Come with me, and I'll tell you everything. Stay here, and you'll be dead before sunrise."
I should call the cops. I should grab Milo and run.
But the black line is moving, and this man knew my mother, and I've been looking for answers for three years.
"Seven days," I say. "And then you take this thing off me."
"Seven days," he agrees.
I follow him out into the alley. The air is freezing. My wrist is burning.
"One more thing," I say.
He stops.
"If you're lying to me, if this is some kind of setup, I'll break that lighter over your skull and see what happens."
Kael almost smiles.
"Your mother said the same thing once."
Then he keeps walking, and I follow him into the dark.