"Don't move another inch, or I'll take the finger you're using to pick that lock."
Cold steel pressed into the nape of my neck. I froze. The alarm was screaming—a high-pitched, metallic wail that rattled my teeth—but the man behind me was a statue. No breathing. No shaking. Just waiting.
"Wrong house," I whispered. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I'm just the cleaning crew."
"You're a memory thief, Mara Voss." His voice was gravel grinding together. "And you're currently stealing something that doesn't belong to you."
I didn't know him. I didn't even know he existed ten seconds ago. I shifted my weight, my fingers still grazing the brass casing of the pocket watch on the pedestal.
*Just one touch. Ten seconds of truth. That's all I need.*
I closed my eyes and let my consciousness slip. That was my gift—or my curse. I could dive into the residual echoes of an object, stealing the last ten seconds of whoever held it.
But as I touched the watch, the world didn't just echo. It fractured.
Suddenly, I wasn't in the vault. I was in a rain-slicked alley. I saw a man—the same man holding the knife to my neck—slumped against a brick wall. He was bleeding out, chest heaving. And I was there. Standing over him. My face was cold. No pity. I saw myself lean down, whisper something in his ear, and drive a blade straight into his heart.
I gasped, eyes snapping open. The vision was so vivid I could still smell the metallic tang of his blood.
"Get away from the watch," he commanded.
He shoved me forward, slamming my chest against the cold marble of the pedestal. I didn't think. I reacted. I jammed my elbow back into his ribs and twisted, sliding a concealed shard of glass from my sleeve. I sliced upward, catching the meat of his shoulder.
He didn't scream. He barely even grunted. He stepped back, eyes narrowing as blood soaked through his black tactical gear. He didn't look angry. He looked... recognizing.
"So it's true," he said, wiping a drop of blood from his jaw. "You're the one."
"The one what?" I snapped, scrambling backward. "I've never seen you in my life!"
"You will."
He moved too fast. One moment he was five feet away; the next, his hand was clamped around my throat, pinning me against the wall. The air left my lungs in a sharp wheeze. He was huge—solid muscle, smelling of ozone and old leather.
He leaned in, face inches from mine. I could see gold flecks in his dark irises, a sheer dominance that made my skin prickle. He didn't just want to arrest me. He wanted to own the space I occupied.
"Listen carefully, thief," he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. "I'm Dax Riven. And according to the echo in that watch, you're going to kill me."
"I'm not—I wouldn't—"
"Shut up." He pressed his forearm harder against my windpipe. Just enough to make me panic. "I don't care about the watch. I care about the cycle. Seven nights, Mara. That's all I have left before the curse finishes the job. You're the only one who can see the threads."
He paused, his gaze dropping to my mouth before locking back onto my eyes.
"Here's the deal: you help me find out why you kill me, or I'll make sure you don't live to see the second night."
I clawed at his arm. "I don't know what you're talking about! Let me go!"
"Wrong answer."
He released me so abruptly I nearly collapsed. He reached into his belt and pulled out a jagged, obsidian-black knife. The blade seemed to swallow the light.
"Blood-link contract," he said. "If I die, your memories—every single one, including the ones you spent years stealing back—vanish. You'll be a blank slate. A doll. Deal?"
I stared at the knife. A blood-link was the most dangerous magic in Veyra City. Not a promise—a physical tether. If he died, I'd be erased. If I ran, the contract would burn through my veins until I stopped breathing.
"You're insane," I breathed.
"I'm a dead man walking," he countered, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "And you're my only ticket out. Now, move. Before the guards realize the alarms aren't a glitch."
I followed him through the ventilation shafts, my mind racing. The vision—the alley, the blood, the hatred on my own face—it wouldn't leave me. Who was that girl? I looked like me, but I'd never met a man like Dax Riven.
By the time we hit the street, I was shaking. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't even look back. He just marched toward the slums, expecting me to keep up.
"Where are we going?" I yelled, tripping over a loose cobblestone.
"Your place," he said. "I need a secure perimeter, and you're the only one who knows how to hide a ghost in this city."
I led him back to my sanctuary—a cramped apartment above a clockmaker's shop, filled with stolen relics. I hoped once we were inside, I could find a way to break him. A memory-wipe. A distraction. Anything.
I unlocked the door, stepping inside and exhaling for the first time in hours. "Look, Dax, whatever you think is happening—"
I stopped.
My bedroom door was open. The lamp was dimmed. And there, sprawled across my bed as if he'd been there for hours, was Dax Riven.
I froze. I looked back at the man standing in the hallway behind me. He was smiling—a cold, predatory expression.
"You're slow, Mara," the man in the hallway said.
I spun back to the man on the bed. He was holding the obsidian knife. He didn't look like a guest. He looked like a predator who had already won. He slowly pressed the blade into his own palm, blood seeping into the mattress.
He looked up at me, eyes promising a nightmare.
"Now," the man on the bed said, his voice vibrating through the floorboards, "let's talk about why you're so afraid to kill me."