Chapter 11 · Ephraim Pays in Blood

"They're already dead."

Ephraim's voice comes from the dark corner of the cargo container before I see him. He's sitting on a crate, hands loose, no weapon visible. But the way he says it—flat, hollow—makes my finger tighten on the Glock.

"The hell you mean dead?" I step forward. Mara's behind me, her breath still sharp from the sprint across the dock. "Your wife. Your kid. The ledger said they're here."

"They were." Ephraim stands slow, and the overhead work light catches his face. Blood crusted under his nose. Left eye swollen shut. Someone worked him over recent. "Moved them two hours ago. I told them you'd come."

Mara's hand finds my shoulder, a warning pressure. "Jace—"

I shake her off. "You sold us out twice."

"Three times." He says it like he's confessing to a priest who stopped listening years ago. "The fake chip. The safehouse address. And the timing on this location. They wanted you in a box, and I tied the ribbon."

The ledger flares hot against my ribs, and text scrolls across my vision in that same cold white:

**EPHRAIM SLATE: DEBT ACTIVE. COLLECTION AVAILABLE.