Chapter 12 · Grind, Loot, Survive - Chapter 12: Black Market Hustle

"Put it on the table. Slowly. Unless you want me to carve a new vent in your chest," Bram snapped, his hand never leaving the hilt of the jagged knife at his belt.

I didn't move. I just stared at the piece of shimmering, obsidian-like crystal sitting in my palm. It was still warm, humming with a vibration that made my teeth ache. "I know what this is worth, Bram. Don't pretend you're doing me a favor by buying it."

Bram scoffed, stepping into the dim light of the cellar. He looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out by a garbage disposal—greasy leather vest, a scar running through one eyebrow, and eyes that didn't trust anything that breathed. He leaned over the table, his breath smelling of cheap tobacco and something metallic.

"Worth? Kid, in this city, 'worth' is whatever I say it is. You're a rookie with a target on your back and a blood-tag that's probably screaming to every hound in the district. You don't have leverage. You have a death wish."

"I have a Rank-3 core," I countered, sliding the crystal an inch forward.