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"Give me one reason why I shouldn't just drag you back to the Citadel in chains right now," Cain Rook said, his voice like grinding gravel.
He had me pinned against the damp brick of the alleyway, his forearm pressed hard against my collarbone. I could smell the cold rain and old leather clinging to him, and the heat radiating off his chest was suffocating. I tried to twist, but he shifted his weight, slamming me firmer into the wall. The movement sent a jolt of white-hot pain through my chest where the sigil was still humming, a low, vibrating burn that felt like it was trying to eat my ribs from the inside.
"Maybe because you're curious why the Council sent a dog like you to do a job that usually requires a whole squad," I spat, staring straight into those hard, flinty eyes. "Or maybe because you know that if I die, the core goes with me."
Cain didn't flinch. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. I could see the faint, jagged scar running along his jawline, a permanent reminder of some old war I wasn't part of. His gaze dropped to the glowing red mark peeking from the neckline of my shirt.
"The core is a myth, Voss. A ghost story for gear-mages who want to feel important," he muttered. "What's real is that you're a thief with a death sentence etched into your skin. Who gave you the sigil?"
"I didn't ask for it!" I snapped, my voice cracking. "It appeared the second I touched the vault. Now it's counting down, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to explode if I don't find a way to stop it."
He let out a short, sharp laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Explode? You're not a bomb, you're a lock. The Council doesn't make bombs; they make cages. That thing in your chest is a tether. It's waiting for a key."
I stopped struggling and looked at him, really looked at him. The way his fingers tightened on my wrist—not enough to break it, but enough to let me know he could. He wasn't just arresting me. He was studying me. Like I was a piece of machinery he couldn't quite figure out.
"You have the key, don't you?" I whispered.
Cain's expression went stone-cold. He stepped back just an inch, but he didn't let go. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm an enforcer. I don't hold keys; I break doors."
"Liar," I said, a sudden realization hitting me. "I saw the way you looked at the mark. You recognized it. You've seen one before. Maybe on yourself?"
For a second, the mask slipped. His pupils blown wide, a flicker of something—fear, or maybe old rage—crossing his face. He shoved me back against the wall again, his hand moving from my shoulder to grip my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
"You think you're in a position to negotiate?" he hissed. "You're a fugitive. I could hand you over to the High Inquisitor and be promoted by morning."
"Then do it," I challenged, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Hand me over. But we both know the Inquisitor doesn't want me alive. He wants the core. And if you can't deliver it, you're just as useless as I am. You're a tool, Cain. And tools get replaced when they stop working."
He stared at me, his breathing heavy. The silence between us stretched, thick with a tension that felt like a live wire. I could feel the heat of his palm against my skin, a strange contrast to the icy rain dripping down my neck. He wasn't moving, but the air around us seemed to vibrate.
"You're a brat," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "A stubborn, arrogant little brat who doesn't know when she's beaten."
"And you're a lapdog who forgot how to bite," I countered.
Suddenly, he let go of my chin and reached into his coat. I flinched, expecting cuffs or a blade, but he pulled out a small, blackened brass cylinder. It looked ancient, etched with runes that mirrored the ones burning into my chest. The moment it appeared, the sigil in my skin flared a brilliant, violent crimson. I gasped, my knees buckling as a wave of nausea hit me.
"What is that?" I gasped, sliding down the wall.
"A Brass Oath," Cain said, his voice devoid of emotion. "A forbidden binding. It’s the only way to stabilize a countdown sigil without the Council’s permission. It ties two pulses together. One anchor, one weight."
I looked up at him, blinking through the haze of pain. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said, stepping over me and crouching down so we were eye-level, "that if you die, I feel it. If I die, you feel it. We're locked into the same rhythm. I can't let you burn out because it would take me with you."
"You're kidding," I breathed. "You'd bind yourself to a criminal? To me?"
"I'm not doing this for you, Voss. I'm doing this so I can keep you alive long enough to find out who actually stole that core. Because the person who did it is someone I've been hunting for ten years."
He didn't wait for me to agree. He grabbed my hand—his grip was like iron—and pressed the brass cylinder against the center of my chest, right over the glowing mark.
"Hold your breath," he commanded.
I didn't have time to scream. The moment the metal touched my skin, there was a sound like a gunshot inside my head. A surge of gold and red light exploded from the point of contact, wrapping around both of our wrists like burning chains. I felt a violent yank in my gut, as if a hook had been driven into my soul and tethered to his.
Then came the rush.
It wasn't just energy. It was *him*.
I saw a flash of a burning building. I felt the crushing weight of a collapsed ceiling. I heard a voice screaming a name—his name—and then the cold, hollow feeling of being left behind in the dark. It was a memory, raw and bleeding, and it wasn't mine. It was Cain's.
I gasped, my eyes snapping open, and found myself staring into his. He looked horrified. He had felt me too—the terror of the vault, the smell of ozone, the desperate need to find my brother.
He yanked his hand away as if I had burned him, but the golden tether remained, a faint, shimmering line of light connecting my wrist to his, pulsing in time with a heartbeat that wasn't just mine.
"Get up," he snapped, though his voice was shaking.
I tried to stand, but my legs felt like jelly. The bond was still humming, a strange, electric current that made every inch of my skin feel overly sensitive. I could feel his anger, his suspicion, and beneath it all, a deep, aching loneliness that mirrored my own.
"What did you just do to me?" I whispered, clutching my chest.
"I saved your life," he said, stepping back and looking at the bond with a mixture of disgust and fascination. "But now you're mine. Every move you make, every breath you take, I'll know. You can't hide, you can't run, and you definitely can't lie to me."
I looked at the shimmering chain and then back at him. A small, wicked smile touched my lips despite the pain. "So, we're stuck together?"
"Don't get excited," he growled, reaching out to grab my arm and haul me toward the end of the alley. "This isn't a partnership. This is a leash."
As he pulled me forward, the bond suddenly spiked. A sharp, stabbing pain flared in my temple, and I saw another image flicker across my vision—a woman's face, smiling, holding a brass key. It wasn't a memory. It was a signal.
I stumbled, nearly falling into him. "Cain, wait."
"Keep moving," he ordered.
"No, listen," I said, gripping his sleeve. "The bond... it's reacting. Someone is calling. Someone who knows about the Oath."
Cain stopped dead. His entire body went rigid. He didn't look at me; he looked toward the mouth of the alley, where a single, hooded figure was standing in the rain, holding a small, ticking device that looked exactly like the one in my chest.
"Who is that?" I asked.
Cain's voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "That's the man who killed my father."