Chapter 12 · Protection Is a Leash

The contract burns itself into my wrist three hours after Marcus signs it.

I'm halfway to the North Wing when the ink spreads under my skin like it's alive. Black lines spiral up my forearm, delicate as lace, tight as chains. I stop. Press my back against the cold stone wall and watch the pattern settle into place.

It's beautiful. That's the problem.

"You okay?" Some Edge Zone kid I don't know slows down, looks at me like I might pass out. I smile. Wave him off. He hesitates, then keeps walking. Smart.

I wait until he's gone before I try to move again. The hallway stretches ahead, empty and gray. North Wing. Where the library is. Where I need to be if I'm going to figure out what the hell Marcus actually signed me into.

I take one step.

The ink tightens. Not painful. Just—there. A reminder. A leash that hasn't pulled yet.

I take another step.

This time it burns.

I stop. Breathe through it. The burn fades but the message is clear. I'm not going to the North Wing. Not without permission.

"Son of a bitch."

I turn around. Head back the way I came.