Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
Karl's still coughing when I shove him against the station wall.
"Registered?" My voice cracks. "What the hell does that mean?"
He wipes his mouth. Blood smears across the back of his hand. "It means they know you exist. The bond signature hit their network the second it locked in."
"So undo it."
"Can't."
"Try."
"Amy." He says my name like I'm the one being unreasonable. "It doesn't work that way. The mark's a contract. Blood to blood. It burns itself into your cells. Only way to break it is if one of us dies or if we find someone strong enough to unravel it before the thirty days are up."
Thirty days.
I count backward. That gives me until December sixth. Less than a month to fix this before I turn into what—a walking juice box? A puppet on his leash?
"And after thirty days?"
He looks away. That tells me enough.
"Say it."
"Your autonomy fades. You'll still be you, but you won't be able to refuse me. Any command I give, your body will follow. Most bonds don't make it past sixty days before the human stops trying to fight it."
I want to hit him. Want to scream. Want to rip the mark off my shoulder even though I know it won't come off. I tried that in the bathroom at the store while he was passed out. Scrubbed it with hand soap and a dish sponge until my skin was raw. The mark didn't even smudge.
"You said someone strong enough could break it. Who?"
Karl straightens up, winces. His ribs are still a mess. "Covenant mages. Maybe a council arbiter if you could get one to side with you. But they're not going to help a marked human break a bond. It's legal. You're property now."
"I'm not property."
"I know that. They don't."
I step back. My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets. "Then we find a mage."
"Amy—"
"You got a better idea?"
He doesn't answer. That's what I thought.
We leave the station through a side exit that dumps us into an alley behind a shut-down tile warehouse. The sun's been up for maybe an hour. My shift should've ended at six. I didn't even call in. Monica's probably pissed. Or worried. Or both.
Karl moves like every step costs him. I can feel it now, this low hum under my skin that flares every time he's in pain. It's not mine. I know it's not mine. But my ribs ache anyway.
"Stop walking for a second," I say.
He stops. Leans against the brick. His face is pale, tight around the eyes.
"You need to feed."
He shakes his head. "I can wait."
"You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"Liar."
His jaw works. He's grinding his teeth. "If I feed now, the bond tightens. You'll feel more of me. I don't want that for you."
"What I want is for you to not collapse in the middle of the street. How much do you need?"
"Not much. Just—" He stops. His eyes shift past me, go sharp. "Move."
I don't even get a chance to ask. He grabs my wrist and pulls me deeper into the alley, behind a dumpster that smells like rotting vegetables and piss. His hand's over my mouth before I can say anything.
Two men walk past the alley entrance. Suits. Black. Same as the ones from the store. One of them's on the phone.
"—got a lock on the mark's location last night, but it went dead around Fifth. She's fresh, so she won't know how to hide the signature yet. Spread the word. Half a million for whoever brings her in breathing."
My heart stops.
Karl's hand stays over my mouth until they're gone. When he finally lets go, I can't get air in fast enough.
"They put a bounty on me?"
"Not just them. Every hunter in the network just got your face and your signature. You're marked, which means you're evidence that I exist. They want me, but they'll settle for you."
"How much?"
"You heard him. Half a million."
I slide down against the dumpster, sit on the filthy ground. My legs won't hold me. Half a million dollars. I'm worth half a million dollars to people who want to drag me into a room and pull answers out of me about a guy I met eight hours ago.
"This is insane."
"Yeah." Karl crouches next to me. He's still holding his side. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix this."
"I know."
I look at him. Really look at him. Up close, he's younger than I thought. Maybe late twenties. Dark hair that's too long, falls into his eyes. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of face that would've made me look twice if I saw him anywhere normal. But his eyes are old. Tired. Like he's been running for years and he's forgotten what it's like to stop.
"Why'd you pick me?" I ask.
"I didn't. It was random. Wrong place, wrong time. You were just—there."
Somehow that's worse.
He shifts his weight, and I feel it again. That ache under my ribs. It flares hot, sharp. I suck in a breath.
"Stop doing that," I say.
"Doing what?"
"Hurting. I can feel it."
His face changes. Something almost guilty flickers there. "It's the bond. It picks up on extremes. Pain, hunger, fear. It'll fade once I heal."
"How long's that going to take?"
"Couple days. If I feed."
I roll up my sleeve. Shove my wrist at him. "Then do it."
He stares at my arm like it's a trap. "Amy—"
"You said it won't take much. So take it and let's go. I can't think while you're falling apart."
For a second, he doesn't move. Then he reaches out, wraps his fingers around my wrist. His hands are cold. Steady. He looks at me one more time, like he's giving me a chance to back out.
I don't.
He bites.
It doesn't hurt. That's the part that scares me. It should hurt. But it doesn't. It's warm, almost gentle, this pull under my skin that makes my head feel light. I can feel him drinking, feel the bond flare bright between us.
And then I see it.
A flash. Not my memory. His.
A room with concrete walls. Chains bolted to the floor. A man in a white coat leaning over him, syringe in hand. Karl's voice, raw, begging. *Please. I'll do anything. Just let me out.*
I yank my arm back.
Karl lets go immediately. His eyes are clearer now, less gray. The blood's already healing him. I can see the color coming back into his face.
"What was that?" I ask.
He wipes his mouth. "What was what?"
"I saw something. A room. Chains. You were—" I stop. My throat's tight. "How long were you in there?"
His face goes blank. "Doesn't matter."
"Karl—"
"It doesn't matter." He stands up, holds out a hand. I take it. He pulls me to my feet. "We need to move. If they're spreading the word, we've got maybe an hour before this whole area's crawling with hunters."
"Where are we going?"
"I know someone. Neutral ground. He deals in information. If anyone knows a mage who'd be willing to break a bond under the table, it's him."
"And if he turns us in for the bounty?"
"He won't. He owes me."
I want to ask how, but I don't. My wrist is already healed. I check it twice. Not even a scar. Just the mark on my shoulder, still glowing faint under my shirt.
We make it three blocks before Karl stops.
He's staring at something across the street. A phone store. The window display's got a dozen screens, all showing the same thing.
Security footage. Grainy, time-stamped from last night. The camera angle's from above, looking down at the convenience store counter.
And there I am.
Face clear as day. Hair tied back. Name tag visible. The text scrolling underneath says: *AMELIA CHEN. MARKED HUMAN. HALF MILLION BOUNTY. CONTACT HUNTER NETWORK FOR RECOVERY.*
I can't breathe.
Karl grabs my arm, pulls me into the nearest doorway. But it's too late.
Someone across the street is staring at me. A woman. She's holding a phone. She looks at the screen, then at me, then back at the screen.
Her thumb moves.
"Run," Karl says.
We run.