Chapter 19 · Ephraim's Blood Due

"You think burning paper makes it even?"

Ephraim doesn't look up. He's crouched in the corner of the old subway platform, hands shaking over a steel drum someone dragged down here decades ago. The air smells like rust and cold sweat. I can see the ledger page in his grip—black ink, family crest at the top, his daughter's name halfway down.

"I think," he says, voice scraped raw, "it's the only way I walk out of here."

Mara's behind me, gun still warm from the last fight. She's bleeding through her shirt but she won't sit. "He sold you, Jace. The rooftop. The route. He gave them everything."

I know. The ledger showed me two hours ago, right after we cracked the vault. Ephraim's name lit up like a fuse, and underneath it—transaction log, date stamp, the price he took for my head.

"How much?" I ask.

He flinches. "Fifty thousand."

"That's it?"

"And my daughter's medical debt." He finally looks at me. His eyes are red, hollow. "They had her account. Said they'd pull the plug if I didn't give them your route that night."

Mara moves closer. "So you fed him to the grinder and called it love."