Chapter 8 · Run With Your Enemy

"Step away from the core, Milo. Now."

Lena’s voice didn’t shake, but the barrel of her Guild-issue pistol was trembling just a fraction. She had me pinned against the workbench, the cold metal of the muzzle pressing right into the soft skin under my jaw.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The sigil-core was humming between us, a jagged piece of obsidian and brass that shouldn’t be awake. It wasn’t just humming—it was vibrating in my teeth, whispering things that didn’t make sense in any language I’d been taught in the scrap-yards.

"You don't get it," I wheezed, my back arching against the workbench. "It's not just a machine. It's talking. It knows you."

"It's a weapon, you idiot," Lena snapped. She stepped closer, her boots clicking on the oil-slicked floor. The scent of ozone and expensive Guild soap hit me—sharp, clean, and completely out of place in this soot-choked hole. "The Guild spent forty years burying this tech. If the High Inquisitors find out you’ve woken it, they won’t just arrest you. They’ll scrub your existence from the census. You’ll be a ghost before you hit the pavement."

I looked at her—really looked at her.