Chapter 21 · Ghosts from the Old World

"Sign it, Julian. Or I stop her heart right now. Simple trade," the man in the grey suit said. His voice was flat. Dead. Like a line on an EKG.

He didn't even look at Sloane. He just stared at Julian, dangling a piece of parchment that shimmered with a sickly, oily light.

Julian felt the air vanish from his lungs. He looked at Sloane. She was pinned against the wall—no chains, just a shimmering grey veil wrapped around her throat like a ghost’s hand. Her face was pale. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. But her eyes—those sharp, lethal eyes—were locked on him.

*Don't do it,* they screamed.

"Who the hell are you?" Julian choked out. He sounded small. Fragile. Like the broken man he’d been before this nightmare city.

"The man who holds your lease, Julian." The man stepped closer. *Click. Click.* Polished leather on stone. "The Silent Heart Society doesn't like it when their investments vanish across dimensions. You didn't just quit your practice; you stole a debt. A spiritual one."

"I didn't steal anything!" Julian stepped forward.

Fast. Too fast. The man raised a finger and the veil tightened.