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The man's eyes opened.
Not slow. Not confused. Just open, like he'd been awake the whole time and decided to stop pretending.
Ivy's hand was still on his chest. The glow under her palm faded to nothing, and the contract mark on her wrist went cold. She jerked back, but the silver lines didn't disappear. They stayed there, wrapped around her skin like a brand.
"Seven days," the man said. His voice was rough, but steady. Too steady for someone who'd been dying two minutes ago. "That's all you gave me."
"You're welcome." Ivy grabbed a towel and wiped the blood off her hands. Her fingers were shaking. She shoved them into her pockets. "Now tell me who killed my family."
He sat up. The wound on his chest was closed. Not healed—she could still see the edges of the cut, angry and red—but closed enough that he wasn't going to bleed out on her floor. He looked at her like he was deciding something.
"You don't know who I am," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"I know you're bleeding on my equipment and you owe me an answer." Ivy crossed her arms. "Start talking."
He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Silas Vane."
The name hit her like a fist to the throat.
She'd heard it before. Six years ago, in the police report that didn't make sense. In the closed-door meetings her aunt had with lawyers who wouldn't look Ivy in the eye. In the single line of testimony that got sealed before anyone could ask why.
Silas Vane. Heir to the Night Court. Last person seen near the Moore house the night it burned.
"You," Ivy said. Her voice came out flat. "You're the one they blamed."
"Blamed." He tilted his head. "Interesting word."
"Get out."
"Can't." He tapped his wrist. A mark identical to hers glowed faint silver under his skin. "You signed the contract. For seven days, if I die, you die. If I leave your side for more than an hour, the bond breaks and we both go."
Ivy's stomach dropped. "That wasn't in the deal."
"You didn't ask." He stood. He was taller than she'd thought. Taller and steadier, and the way he moved made her think of someone who'd been in too many fights to care about one more. "The contract ties us. Pain, power, proximity. You want answers, you're stuck with me until the clock runs out."
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream. She did neither. "My family burned because of you."
"No." His voice went cold. "Your family burned because someone wanted me to take the fall. And you just signed yourself to the man everyone thinks did it."
He was lying. He had to be lying.
But the contract mark on her wrist was real. The scar on his chest was real. And the way he said her family made something twist in her gut, because he didn't sound like he was pretending.
"You knew my name," Ivy said. "Before I told you. You knew why I got fired."
"I know a lot of things." Silas walked to the window. He moved like his ribs weren't half-broken. "Your mother told me you'd be here."
Ivy's breath stopped.
"My mother died six years ago."
"I know." He looked back at her. "I was there."
She didn't remember moving. One second she was across the room. The next her hands were on him, slamming him into the wall. The wound on his chest split open again. Blood soaked through his shirt.
He didn't fight back.
"You don't get to talk about her," Ivy said. Her voice cracked. "You don't get to stand here and pretend you knew her."
"She told me to find you." His face was white, but his eyes stayed on hers. "She said you'd be angry. She said you'd try to kill me. She said to tell you the music box wasn't empty."
Ivy's hands went slack.
The music box.
No one knew about the music box. It had been her mother's. Small, wooden, with a broken hinge that never played the right tune. Her mother used to keep it on the kitchen counter. Ivy had opened it once, the day after the funeral. It was empty. Nothing inside but dust and the faint smell of roses.
"How do you know that," Ivy whispered.
Silas pushed himself off the wall. He was breathing hard now, one hand pressed to his chest. "Because she gave it to me. Three days before she died. She said if I ever found you, I had to give it back."
"Where is it."
"Safe." He leaned against the window frame. "And you'll get it when you stop trying to kill me."
Ivy stepped back. Her hands were covered in his blood again. The contract mark on her wrist burned.
"If you're lying—"
"Then the bond breaks and we both die." Silas looked at her. "I'm not lying."
The ER doors slammed open.
Ivy spun around. Three people walked in. Not walked—stalked. They moved like soldiers, tight formation, eyes scanning the room. They wore black, head to toe, and the way they carried themselves made Ivy think of her mother's old stories. The ones about hunters who didn't answer to human law.
The lead hunter saw Silas and stopped.
Then he dropped to one knee.
The other two followed.
"Your Highness," the lead hunter said. His voice was flat. "We've been looking for you."
Silas didn't move. "I'm sure you have."
"The Court demands your return." The hunter's eyes flicked to Ivy. "And an explanation for the contract mark."
Ivy's wrist burned. She shoved it behind her back, but it was too late. They'd seen it.
"She's human," one of the other hunters said. He sounded disgusted. "You bound yourself to a human."
"I was dying," Silas said. "She was convenient."
Convenient.
Ivy wanted to punch him.
The lead hunter stood. He pulled something from his belt—a thin silver chain that looked too delicate to hold anything. "The Court will decide her fate. Until then, she comes with us."
"No." Silas moved in front of Ivy. Fast. Faster than someone with a split chest should've been able to move. "She's under my protection."
"She's your accomplice." The hunter's hand tightened on the chain. "Moon contracts are forbidden with outsiders. You know the law."
"I wrote half the law," Silas said. "She stays with me."
The hunter looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Fine." He stepped forward. "Then you both come."
The chain snapped around Ivy's wrist before she could move. It didn't hurt. It just went cold, cold enough to burn, and her knees buckled.
Silas caught her.
"Don't fight it," he said quietly. "It'll only make it worse."
"What is this," Ivy gasped.
"A leash." He pulled her upright. His hand was steady on her arm. "Welcome to the Night Court."
The hunter smiled.
"Let's go."