“Tell me who sold you out.”
Julian had me pinned against the brick wall, one hand locked around my wrist and the other pressed beneath my jaw. The new collar at my throat burned every time his fingers tightened.
I smiled through it. “Good morning to you too.”
“Vesper.”
“Don’t use that tone unless you plan to break something.”
His eyes dropped to the black band around my neck. A thin silver line pulsed across it, matching the mark burned into his palm. The soul-bind had connected us last night. I could still feel him at the edge of my thoughts—sharp, angry, annoyingly awake.
And he could feel me too.
That was the problem.
His thumb moved against my pulse. Not gentle. Not quite cruel either. Like he was checking whether I was still dangerous.
“Your powers were taken six months ago,” he said. “Three League agents died in the attack on the west gate. Every witness saw you open the shield grid and let the revenants through.”
“Every witness was paid.”
“By who?”
“Let go, and I might remember.”
His grip tightened.
Pain flashed across my neck. So did his—brief and hot, a spike of pressure behind my eyes. Julian flinched before he could hide it.
I laughed. “Oh, that’s cute.”
“What?”
“You hurt me, and you feel it too.”
“I feel the contract reacting.”
“Sure you do.”
He leaned closer. His breath brushed my cheek. “You’re in no position to be smug.”
“Neither are you, golden boy.”
The nickname landed. His mouth flattened.
Everyone in the city called Julian Vale the League’s golden boy. Perfect record. Perfect smile. Perfect family crest stitched into every uniform he wore. He had saved three districts, stopped two riots, and stood beside the League Chancellor when they branded me a traitor.
He had also been there when they stripped my shield.
I still remembered his hand on the control panel.
Julian’s gaze sharpened. “You want to talk about positions? You’re wanted in four districts. Your face is on every transit screen. If the League finds you before I decide what to do with you, they won’t bother with a trial.”
“They already decided what to do with me.”
“Then give me one reason not to hand you over.”
“Because you can’t.”
His fingers went still.
I felt the question hit his mind before he spoke it. Not words. Just a hard, startled crack of doubt.
There it was.
I twisted my wrist, not to escape. To press two fingers against the mark on his palm.
Julian shoved me harder into the wall. “What did you just do?”
“Found the leash.”
His face changed by half an inch. Most people would miss it. I wouldn’t. I had spent years reading enemies before they moved.
“You’re bluffing,” he said.
“Am I?”
“Your power is gone.”
“My shield is gone. That doesn’t mean I forgot how contracts work.”
He pulled my hand away, but I caught the front of his coat with my free fingers. The fabric was warm from his body. Too close. His knee brushed mine as he blocked my legs.
His jaw flexed.
I felt that too.
“Let’s make this simple,” I said. “You need me alive because the contract won’t let you kill me.”
“It won’t let either of us kill the other.”
“Wrong. It won’t let you kill me while you’re using my anchor.”
The silence between us snapped tight.
Julian released my wrist just long enough to grab the back of my neck. His palm covered the collar. Heat rushed through the metal, and my knees nearly buckled.
“Explain,” he said.
“Your mark is drawing from mine.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Then why are you still standing?”
His eyes flicked to the thin blue veins of light running beneath my skin. They had appeared after the soul-bind. A weak glow, but it was more than I’d had in months.
He saw it.
He hated that he saw it.
I pushed against his chest. “Move.”
“You’re not leaving.”
“We’re in an abandoned print shop with three exits and a League patrol sweeping the block.”
His head turned toward the boarded windows.
I smiled again. “You didn’t know that.”
“Stop pretending you’re in control.”
“I’m not pretending.”
A pulse struck through the collar. My vision blurred for one second. Julian’s hand had tightened without him meaning to. His anger hit me like a second heartbeat.
I shoved him with both hands.
He caught both wrists.
“Careful,” he said.
“Make me.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth, then came back up. Fast. Too fast to be an accident.
The collar warmed between us.
Neither of us moved.
I could feel his breathing now. Slow. Controlled. He smelled like clean soap, leather, and the bitter coffee he had spilled on his sleeve. He was close enough that one stupid step would put my chest against his.
I hated noticing any of it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re planning to stab me.”
“I am planning to stab you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then say what you mean.”
His fingers shifted around my wrists. The pressure softened for one beat, and I almost pulled free.
Almost.
He caught me anyway.
The bastard turned with my momentum and trapped my arms behind me. My back hit his chest. His forearm crossed my collarbone, holding me still without crushing my throat.
“Still want me to move?” he asked near my ear.
“I want you to lose the hand.”
“Noted.”
“Your confidence is getting irritating.”
“It was irritating before the contract.”
“Then we agree on something.”
A sharp laugh escaped him. It vanished quickly, but I felt it through the bond. Warm. Unwanted.
I drove my heel backward.
He twisted aside. I spun with him, caught his shoulder, and slammed him into the old counter. A stack of rusted printing plates crashed to the floor.
Julian grunted.
I grabbed the knife strapped beneath his jacket.
He caught my hand before I could pull it free.
“Really?” he said. “You steal my weapon while we’re negotiating?”
“You call this negotiating?”
“You’re the one who started punching.”
“You put me in a collar.”
“You tried to run.”
“Because you put me in a collar.”
His hand closed over mine on the knife hilt. The blade stayed between us, angled toward his ribs.
“Drop it,” he said.
“Make me.”
His gaze hardened. “You keep saying that like you want to find out.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
I saw the same surprise in his face. He hadn’t planned to say it. Neither of us looked away.
Then the bond flashed.
A memory slammed through my head.
Julian on one knee beneath the League tower. Blood running from his nose. A black sigil spreading across his chest. Someone standing behind him with a gloved hand on his shoulder.
Not a face. Not yet.