Chapter 8 · Black Market. Pay With Blood

"Move another inch and I’ll take your fingers off one by one," the Collector hissed, his voice like grinding gravel. He didn't just have a gun; he had a neural-shackle humming in his palm, a piece of illegal tech that could fry a Magus's brain in seconds.

Jax didn't move. He couldn't. The living gear in his chest was pulsing a violent, jagged rhythm, and every time it spiked, Elise gasped beside him, her hand clutching her chest. They were vibrating on the same frequency, a miserable, mirrored heartbeat.

"We're not going anywhere with you," Elise spat, though her voice lacked its usual iron. She tried to step forward, but the gear flared. She stumbled, her shoulder slamming into Jax’s chest.

He caught her, his fingers digging into the leather of her tactical vest. He could feel the heat radiating off her—not just fever, but the raw, humming energy of the star-core.

"Tough talk for a pair of dogs on a leash," the Collector sneered. He stepped closer, the smell of ozone and old copper clinging to him. "The coordinates just popped, didn't they? The Black Market Pit. You think you're walking in there as guests? You're the entertainment.