Chapter 8 · Money Under Cinderfall

"Get in the car."

Mara's hand is already on my collar before I finish blinking. The street's empty but it won't be. Sirens are climbing the wet blocks behind us, and the ledger's still hot against my ribs like it just swallowed something radioactive.

"I don't take rides from people who shoot at me," I say.

"I shot past you." She shoves me toward a black sedan with rain sliding off the hood. "You want to argue semantics or you want to live?"

I get in. She's around the other side before I can check the back seat. The engine's already running. She pulls into traffic like she owns the lane, no signal, no hesitation.

"Where are we going?"

"Under."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting." Her knuckles are white on the wheel. There's blood on her sleeve, dark and still wet. "The page you just pulled—what did it say?"

"You saw it."

"I saw you rip something out of thin air and shove it in your jacket. What. Did. It. Say."

I pull it out. The paper's cold, heavier than it should be, and the ink's still moving. Names I don't recognize.