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"Sit. Down. Now," she said, and the edge of a silver blade pressed right into the soft skin under my jaw.
I didn't sit. I froze. The air in the room tasted like old ozone and expensive perfume, the kind that smells like a funeral for someone who died rich. I was pinned against a mahogany desk that probably cost more than my last three cars combined. The woman holding the knife—Eve Vane—didn't look like a killer. She looked like a corporate shark in a silk suit that fit her like a second skin.
"You're shaking, Cole," she whispered. Her breath was warm against my cheek, a sharp contrast to the ice-cold steel of the knife. "Is it the curse? Or are you just realizing how screwed you actually are?"
"I'm not shaking," I lied, though my pulse was hammering against the blade. "I'm just wondering why a high-end broker is doing her own dirty work."
Eve chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her shoulder brushing mine, forcing me deeper into the desk. "Because the Pact Deck doesn't just choose anyone. It chooses the desperate. And you, Cole Mercer, are the most desperate man in Ashen City."
She flicked her wrist, and the knife didn't cut—it pivoted, the flat of the blade slapping against my cheek. "The Council wants those cards. They don't care if you live or die, but they do care that the deck stays in the family. You’re a glitch. A mistake. A little stray dog who found a gold mine and doesn't know how to dig."
"I don't want the cards," I spat. "I want my sister's debt cleared. That's the only reason I'm still breathing."
Eve's expression shifted. The amusement vanished, replaced by something predatory. She stepped around me, her heels clicking on the hardwood like a countdown. She stopped just inches away, her presence filling the space, making the room feel half its actual size.
"Your sister's debt isn't in dollars, you idiot," she said. She reached out, her fingers grazing my wrist—right where the skin felt like it was simmering from the inside. "It's soul-shares. The kind of debt you can't pay off with a second job or a lottery win. You owe the Council years. Decades. Memories. The very things that make you a person."
I tried to pull my arm back, but her grip tightened. Her hand was small, but she had a strength that felt unnatural, like she was locking onto my bones.
"Let go," I growled.
"Make me," she countered. She smiled, and for a second, I saw it—the flicker of something not entirely human in her eyes. "Or better yet, let's talk about a new deal. I can protect you from the Council. I can keep the Arbiters off your back for a few weeks. Maybe even find a way to buy back your sister's shares."
"And what's the catch?" I asked, my voice rough. "Nothing in this city comes without a hook."
"The hook is simple," Eve said, stepping even closer. I could smell the vanilla and iron on her now. She reached into her blazer and pulled out a small, obsidian-colored needle. "I don't want your money. I want a percentage of whatever the deck gives you. A broker's fee, written in blood."
I looked at the needle, then at her. "You're insane."
"I'm a businesswoman," she corrected. "And right now, you're the only asset in this room with any value. Now, give me your hand, or I call Silas Quinn. He's not as patient as I am. He doesn't use knives. He uses erasers. He'll wipe your existence so clean your own mother will forget you ever breathed."
I stared at her. The power dynamic was a landslide, and I was at the bottom. I had the deck, sure, but she had the map, the keys, and the leverage. If I walked out that door, I was a dead man walking. If I stayed, I was her property.
"Fine," I muttered. "Do it."
Eve didn't hesitate. She grabbed my forearm and yanked it toward her, pinning it against the mahogany surface. The sudden movement brought us chest-to-chest. I could feel the rapid thrum of her heart, or maybe it was mine. The tension was thick, a physical weight pressing down on us both.
She didn't just prick me. She drove the needle in deep, twisting it.
I hissed, my muscles locking up. A sharp, searing heat flooded my veins, starting from the wrist and racing up toward my shoulder. It felt like liquid lead. I tried to jerk away, but she leaned her full weight into me, her body pressing me flat against the desk, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my head spin.
"Don't fight it," she whispered, her voice dropping to a sultry, commanding hum. "Feel the link. That's the contract locking in. You're mine now, Cole. In every way that matters to the Council."
She pulled the needle out with a slow, deliberate motion. A single drop of blood remained on my skin, but it didn't bead up. It sank in, glowing with a faint, sickly violet light before vanishing.
I gasped, my lungs suddenly feeling too small. The world tilted. The heat receded, leaving behind a cold, hollow sensation in my chest, like a piece of me had just been scooped out with a spoon.
Eve stepped back, smoothing her skirt with a satisfied look. She looked at me not as a partner, but as a prize.
"There," she said, her tone returning to that corporate chill. "You're officially under my management. You'll do what I say, go where I tell you, and most importantly, you'll win those games. Because if you lose, I lose my commission. And I *hate* losing money."
I sat up slowly, rubbing my wrist. The skin looked normal, but I could feel her. It was a thin, invisible thread connecting my consciousness to hers, a tether that made my skin crawl.
"What did you just do to me?" I asked.
Eve leaned over the desk, her face inches from mine again. She didn't smile this time. Her voice was a ghost of a whisper, sending a chill straight down my spine.
"You think this is about cash, Cole?" she murmured. "You don't owe money anymore. You owe soul-shares. And I just bought half of you."