Chapter 17 · The Dead Man Walks

"Get the fuck up!"

The boot slammed into my ribs, pinning me against the damp concrete. I didn't groan. I just tasted copper and felt the cold bite of the floor against my cheek.

"Still breathing," the man spat. He sounded like he’d smoked a pack of nails for breakfast. "I told you this trash was dead. How the hell is he still breathing?"

I looked up. Four of them. Professional hunting squad. Black tactical gear, bone-reinforced armor, and those arrogant expressions that only come from people who think they're gods because they stole someone else's marrow.

"Maybe he's a zombie," another one laughed, stepping forward. He held a jagged extraction blade. "Let's see if he's still got enough marrow in his spine to be worth the bounty."

I didn't move. I let them think I was broken. Inside, the Devouring Bone was humming—a low, hungry vibration that made my teeth ache. It didn't want mercy. It wanted a feast.

"Wait," the leader barked, his voice sharp. He knelt down, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back. His breath smelled like peppermint and cruelty. "Look at those eyes. That's not a dead man's look.