Marcus wants to meet at four in the morning.
I stare at the text on my cracked phone screen. Karl's sitting on the floor in the corner of my bedroom, arms wrapped around his knees. He hasn't moved in twenty minutes. The mark on my shoulder is warm, a dull ache that won't quit.
"Hunter guy says he's got information," I say. "Wants cash up front."
Karl doesn't look up. "How much."
"Five hundred."
"You don't have five hundred."
"I know that." I sit down on the edge of my bed. The mattress dips. "You got any money?"
He laughs. It's a dry sound, no humor in it. "Yeah. In my other pants. The ones I was wearing when they dragged me into the pit three years ago."
I rub my face. My shift starts in six hours and I haven't slept. The mark pulses, sending a spike of heat down my arm. I flinch.
Karl lifts his head. His eyes are too bright, the red creeping back into the edges. "When did you last eat."
"I'm fine."
"When."
"This morning. Toast." I stand up, pacing. "I can pull five hundred from my savings. It'll wipe me out but if this Marcus guy knows how to break the bond—"
"He doesn't."
I stop. "You don't know that."
"Amy." Karl stands, slow, like his bones hurt. "Hunters don't help sources. They collect them. You walk into that meeting, you're not walking out."
The room feels smaller. I cross my arms. "So what, I just sit here and wait for the mark to eat my brain? You said thirty days. I've got twenty-seven left."
He doesn't answer. The silence stretches. I can hear the neighbor's TV through the wall, some late-night talk show laugh track.
"Fine," I say. "I'll go alone."
"No."
"You don't get to tell me no." I grab my jacket off the chair. "You bit me. You put this thing on me. I didn't ask for any of this."
Karl moves fast. He's in front of the door before I take two steps. "You go to that meeting, they'll scan the mark. They'll see it's an Ashe bond. Then they'll know."
"Know what?"
His jaw tightens. "That I'm worth more than you."
I stare at him. The mark flares hot, then cold. Something in his voice, the way he won't look at me. "What does that mean."
"It means they'll sell you to the highest bidder and put a bullet in my head." He steps aside. "But sure. Go meet your hunter. I'll start writing your eulogy."
I hate him. I hate the bite, the mark, the way my shoulder burns every time he's hungry. I hate that he's probably right.
I sit back down on the bed.
Karl exhales. He leans against the door, slides down until he's sitting again. We don't talk for a while. The room smells like old coffee and the faint copper tang that follows him everywhere.
"You need to feed," I say finally.
He shakes his head. "I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I said I'm fine."
The mark disagrees. It flares, a sharp twist under my skin that makes me gasp. I feel it, the edge of his hunger, the way it's clawing at him from the inside. It's not just pain. It's panic. Desperation. The feeling of a throat closing, lungs forgetting how to pull air.
"Karl."
"Don't." His voice cracks. "Just don't."
I cross the room. Kneel in front of him. His eyes are fully red now, the black pupil barely visible. He's holding his breath.
"You die, I'm stuck with this mark and no way out," I say. "So stop being stupid."
He looks at me. Really looks at me. There's something broken in his face, something that makes my chest tight.
"I don't want to hurt you," he says.
I roll up my sleeve. The mark glows faint gold against my skin. "Then don't."
He doesn't move. I grab his wrist, pull his hand toward me. His fingers are cold. He jerks back like I burned him.
"Amy—"
"Just do it."
He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the red is brighter, hungrier. He leans in slow, like he's giving me time to run. I don't.
The bite is sharp, then warm. Not like the first time. This time I feel the pull, the way the mark hums under my skin, feeding him through the bond. It doesn't hurt. It should, but it doesn't.
Then the memory hits.
I'm underground. Concrete walls slick with damp, the air thick and sour. There's a chain around my neck, bolted to the floor. I can't stand. Can't sit up straight. My ribs are showing through my skin. There are others in cages beside me, their eyes empty, their mouths slack. A man in a gray suit walks past, clipboard in hand. He doesn't look at us. We're inventory.
A door opens. They drag in someone new, a girl, maybe nineteen. She's screaming. They strip the chain on her and lock the cage. She begs. No one answers.
The man in the suit stops in front of my cage. He crouches down, smiles. "Caleb Ashe. The lost prince. Your brother sends his regards."
I lunge. The chain snaps me back. I taste blood. My own.
He laughs. "Three years down here and you still think you're getting out. That's cute."
The memory cuts. I'm on my bedroom floor, gasping. Karl's pulled back, blood on his lips, his eyes wide.
"Amy—"
I scramble back, hitting the bed frame. My heart's hammering. I can still feel the chain, the weight of it, the cold concrete under my knees. "What the hell was that."
"I don't know." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "The bond. Sometimes it—"
"That was real." My voice is shaking. "That was you. Underground. In a cage."
He doesn't answer.
"They called you Caleb."
His whole body goes rigid.
I stand up, slow. My legs are weak but I stay on my feet. "Your name's not Karl."
"Amy—"
"Is it."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he says, quiet, "No."
The room tilts. I sit back down before I fall. "Who are you."
Before he can answer, my phone buzzes. I grab it off the bed. Another text from Marcus.
Change of plan. New orders. Bring the vampire alive. The girl too. Payment tripled.
I stare at the screen. Read it again.
Karl sees my face. "What."
I hold up the phone. He reads it, and something flickers across his face. Not fear. Resignation.
"They know," he says.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's not a text. It's an image. A grainy photo, black and white, pulled from a security camera. My face. My name underneath. And below that, a number.
$500,000 for Amy Chen. Alive. Marked source of Caleb Ashe.
Another message comes through, this one from a number I don't recognize.
Kill Caleb Ashe on sight. Confirmation of death: $1,000,000.
I drop the phone. It hits the floor, screen cracking further.
Karl picks it up. He reads both messages. When he looks up, his face is blank.
"They want you alive," he says. "They want me dead."
I can't breathe. The room is spinning. "Why."
He hands me the phone back. His hand is steady. Mine isn't.
"Because my brother just made it official," he says. "I'm not just a runaway. I'm the rightful head of the Ashe family. And he's not letting me take it back."