Chapter 6 · The Memory of a Knife

"Drop it, Mara. Now."

Dax didn't ask. He pinned me against the cold metal of the workbench, his chest nearly crushing mine. His hand clamped around my wrist like a vice. He wasn't hurting me, but the grip was absolute. Pure enforcer. A man paid to make things disappear.

In my other hand, I gripped the memory crystal. A jagged shard of iridescent glass pulsing with a sickly violet light. The 'Death Memory.' The one the black market ledger claimed showed exactly how Dax Riven died.

"I can't," I snapped, wrenching my arm. He didn't budge. "This is the only lead. If someone's selling your death, we find the buyer."

"I don't care who's buying it," Dax growled.

He leaned in. His breath was warm against my cheek, smelling of leather and ozone. His pupils were blown wide, dark and dangerous. "That thing is a parasite. It doesn't just show a memory—it rewrites you. You touch that, and you aren't watching a movie. You're living it."

"I'm a memory thief, Dax. I live in other people's heads for a living." I tilted my chin up, challenging him. The heat radiating off him was suffocating.