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"I want out."
Kael doesn't even look up from the tablet in his hand. He's standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city bleeding orange light across his shoulders. The bandage on his neck is fresh, white gauze stark against his skin. I can still see the edge of the mark underneath, black veins crawling like cracks in glass.
"No," he says.
"No?" I take a step forward. My wrist burns where the mark transferred, the obsidian pattern pulsing faint and hot under my skin. "You don't get to just say no. I smashed that thing off you. I saved your life. We're done."
"We're not." He sets the tablet down on the glass table, slow and deliberate. When he turns to face me, his eyes are cold. "You broke a hunter's mark. That makes you a target. They'll come for you whether you're here or not."
"Then I'll run."
"You'll die."
I clench my fists. "I'll take my chances."
"What about your brother?"
The room goes quiet. Just the hum of the penthouse ventilation, the distant buzz of the city below. My heartbeat is too loud in my ears.
"Don't," I say.
"Milo Vale." Kael's voice is flat, clinical. "Seventeen. Lives in unit 4B at the Greenpoint complex. Works part-time at a repair shop on Havemeyer. Skips class Tuesdays and Thursdays to run code for a gray-market data broker named Fletch."
My throat tightens. "You don't touch him."
"I don't have to." He takes a step closer. "The hunters will. You broke their tool. You think they're going to let that slide? They'll track the curse signature, find you, and when they do, they'll leverage the easiest hostage in the city."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He stops three feet away, arms loose at his sides. He's not threatening me. He doesn't have to. "You want to test it? Walk out that door. See how long it takes them to show up at Milo's school."
I want to hit him. I want to grab the nearest object and throw it at his smug, bloodless face. But my hands are shaking, and I know he's right.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"Seven nights."
"What?"
Kael reaches into his jacket and pulls out a thin steel card, edges sharp enough to cut. He flicks it onto the table between us. It lands face-up, and I see the engraving: a crescent moon split down the middle, surrounded by text I can't read.
"The mark on your wrist isn't random," he says. "It's a blood lock. Seven nights, seven binding phases. Every midnight, the curse tightens. If I die before the seventh night ends, it jumps to the nearest anchor."
"Me."
"You."
"And if you live?"
"It burns out. You're free."
I stare at the card, then at him. "So you need me to keep you alive."
"I need you close." He picks up the card again, turning it over in his fingers. "The hunters are running a trial. Seven nights to prove I'm not weak enough to kill. If I survive, I inherit the seat. If I don't, someone else does."
"And I'm supposed to care because?"
"Because if I die, the curse kills you. And then it kills Milo."
The words hit like a fist to the ribs. I take a breath, then another. My wrist throbs, the mark pulsing in sync with my heartbeat.
"You're blackmailing me."
"I'm offering you a deal." He slides the card back into his jacket. "Seven nights. You stay here, you help me stay alive, and when it's over, your family debt disappears. No hunters. No curse. No one looking for your brother."
"What family debt?"
Kael's expression doesn't change. "Your mother borrowed from the guild. She didn't pay it back. You think they forgot?"
My stomach drops. "My mom's been gone for three years."
"And the interest has been compounding." He pulls out his phone, swipes twice, and holds it up. The screen shows a ledger entry, my mother's name at the top. The number at the bottom has seven digits.
"That's insane," I whisper.
"That's the guild." He pockets the phone. "Stay with me for seven nights, and I'll clear it. All of it."
I want to say no. I want to walk out, grab Milo, and disappear into whatever hole we can find. But the mark on my wrist burns hotter, and I know there's no hole deep enough.
"Why me?" I ask. "You've got money. You've got security. Why do you need a bartender?"
"Because you're unpredictable." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the antiseptic from the bandage, the faint copper tang of blood underneath. "The hunters expect guards. They expect weapons. They don't expect someone who smashes a curse mark with a lighter and then tries to run."
"That's not a plan. That's desperation."
"Desperation works." His eyes lock on mine, and for the first time, I see something crack in that cold mask. Not fear. Not exactly. But something close. "I've spent the last five years playing their game. Following their rules. And it got me a death mark and a knife in the spine. So yeah. I'm trying something desperate."
I hold his gaze. My pulse is hammering, my hands still shaking. The mark on my wrist flares, hot enough to make me flinch.
"Seven nights," I say. "And then I'm gone."
"Seven nights," he agrees.
"And you don't touch my brother."
"I won't have to. You'll be here."
I hate how reasonable he sounds. I hate the way he's standing there, bleeding under his bandage, looking at me like I'm a tool he just picked up off the ground.
But I hate the number on that ledger more.
"Fine," I say. "What happens now?"
Kael reaches out, slow enough that I could step back. I don't. His hand closes around my wrist, thumb pressing against the mark. The heat spikes, sharp and sudden, and I gasp.
"Now we bind it properly," he says.
He pulls a thin blade from his pocket, the edge gleaming silver. Before I can ask what he's doing, he draws it across his palm. Blood wells up, dark and fast, dripping onto the glass table.
"Your turn," he says, and offers me the blade.
I take it. My hand is steadier than I expected. I press the edge to my palm, shallow and quick, and blood rises to meet his.
Kael grabs my hand, pressing our palms together. The mark on my wrist flares white-hot, and I bite down on a scream. His blood is warm, slick between our fingers, and the curse wraps tighter, sinking deeper.
"Seven nights," he says, voice low and rough. "Starting now."
The heat peaks, then locks into place. I feel it settle, a cold weight under my skin, counting down.
Kael lets go. I pull my hand back, blood smeared across my palm, the mark on my wrist now edged in silver. It pulses once, twice, then goes still.
"Congratulations," he says. "You're officially collateral."
I'm about to tell him exactly where he can shove his congratulations when his phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and picks it up.
"What?" I ask.
He doesn't answer. He's staring at the screen, his jaw tight.
"Kael. What is it?"
He turns the phone toward me. The screen shows a message, just three words:
*Bring me the boy.*
Below it, a photo. Milo, walking out of the repair shop, backpack slung over one shoulder, headphones in.
The timestamp says four minutes ago.
My blood goes cold.
"They already know," Kael says quietly.
I grab the phone out of his hand. The sender is listed as *Unknown*, but at the bottom of the screen, there's another line of text:
*You have until midnight. Don't make me come get him.*
The phone buzzes again. A new photo loads.
It's my mother.
She's standing beside a woman I don't recognize, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, in front of a building I've never seen. The timestamp says three days ago.
"Who is that?" I whisper.
Kael's face goes hard. "Selene Crowe."
"Who?"
"The hunter who put the mark on me in the first place." He takes the phone back, staring at the image. "If she has your mother, then this just got a lot worse."
I can't breathe. The room is spinning, my wrist burning, my palm still wet with blood.
"We have to get Milo," I say.
"We will." Kael pockets the phone and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. "But if we go now, they'll be waiting. We need a plan."
"I don't care about a plan. That's my brother."
"And he's bait." Kael's voice cuts through the panic, cold and sharp. "They want you to run. They want you scared and sloppy. That's when they take both of you."
I want to argue. I want to scream. But the mark on my wrist pulses, and I know he's right.
"Then what do we do?" I ask.
Kael pulls the steel card back out of his jacket and sets it on the table. This time, I see the text around the crescent moon.
*Seven nights. No exit.*
"We go get your brother," he says. "And we make Selene Crowe wish she'd stayed dead."
The phone in his hand lights up again.
This time, it's ringing.