Chapter 20 · The Debt Collector

"Get behind me. Now!"

Sloane didn't ask. She shoved Julian back, hard. His shoulder slammed into the stone wall with a crack that knocked the wind out of him.

One second, she’d been inches from his lips, her breath warm and desperate. The next, she was a machine. Her blade hissed from its sheath—a sliver of obsidian that seemed to eat the dim light of the clinic.

Three figures stood in the doorway. No insignias. No armor. Just black leather and eyes glowing with a sickly, necrotic purple. They didn't breathe. They didn't blink. They just moved.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Julian gasped. His heart was still hammering against his ribs from the near-kiss.

"Professional cleaners," Sloane spat. Her voice dropped an octave, lethal and cold. She stepped forward, boots clicking. "And they aren't here for the patient. They're here for you."

One assassin lunged. No weapon—his hand shifted into a jagged shadow-claw, swinging for Sloane's throat. She pivoted in a blur, the obsidian blade carving a red arc through the air.

*Thwack.*

The claw was severed mid-air.

"Stay. Put.