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The car smells like leather and something sharper. Blood, maybe. Or fear.
Sera drives without looking at me. Her gloves are back on, pristine white against the wheel. The city slides past the window—shops I used to break into for practice, alleys where Evan taught me to palm a lock pick without getting caught. Everything looks smaller now. Dirtier.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
Sera doesn't answer. She takes a left at the old railroad bridge, heading toward the north hills. The houses get bigger. The streetlights get farther apart.
I try again. "What did Evan actually steal?"
"A ledger." Her voice is flat. "Property of the Vesper Court. Your brother was hired to move it from one vault to another. He decided to keep it instead."
"Evan wouldn't—"
"He did." She cuts me off. "And now the people who want it back are the same people who can make sure he never sees daylight again. So you're going to do exactly what I tell you, and maybe—maybe—he walks out of this alive."
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. The motel key card is still in my jacket pocket, a secret Evan risked everything to give me. I can't let Sera know I have it.
We pull up to a house that doesn't belong in Nightport. It's all glass and steel, perched on the edge of a hill like it's trying to fall off. The gate opens without Sera touching anything. Motion sensors, probably. Or something worse.
She parks and gets out. I follow because I don't have a choice.
Inside, the house is cold. Not temperature cold—empty cold. The kind of place where nobody actually lives. There's a table in the center of the main room, black wood polished to a mirror shine. A single sheet of paper sits on top of it. Next to the paper, a knife.
Sera nods toward the table. "Sit."
I stay standing. "Where's Evan?"
"Safe. For now." She walks to the far wall and taps something on her phone. A screen flickers to life, big enough to cover half the wall.
And there he is.
Evan. Alive. Sitting in a chair with his hands zip-tied behind him. There's a bruise spreading across his jaw, and his left eye is swollen shut. But he's breathing. He's looking at the camera like he knows I'm watching.
"Evan!" I step toward the screen without thinking.
Sera holds up a hand. "He can't hear you. This is recorded an hour ago."
On the screen, someone off-camera says something I can't make out. Evan shakes his head. Then the person hits him—a quick, brutal crack across the face that snaps his head to the side.
I'm moving before I realize it, going for Sera. She sidesteps easily and shoves me back.
"Sit down," she says. "Or I show you the rest of the recording. Trust me, you don't want to see the rest."
I sit.
Sera taps her phone again. The video pauses. Evan's face is frozen mid-wince, blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Here's the situation," Sera says. "The Vesper Court has your brother. They want the ledger back. But more than that, they want someone who can open the old vaults—the ones sealed with blood locks and bone keys. Someone like you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me, Nia." She leans against the table, arms crossed. "I've seen your record. Breaking and entering, illegal locksmithing, three counts of theft under suspicious circumstances. You're good. Better than good. And the Court knows it."
I don't say anything.
Sera picks up the paper from the table and holds it out. "This is a marriage contract. You're going to sign it. Tonight."
I don't take the paper. "Marry who?"
"Julian Cross."
The name hits me like a fist. Cross. The family my parents used to spit on. The bloodline that burned half of Nightport's old district thirty years ago and got away with it because they had money and lawyers and friends in the Vesper Court.
"No," I say. "Absolutely not."
Sera's expression doesn't change. She taps her phone. The screen shifts. Now it's a live feed—I can tell because Evan's moving, breathing hard, looking around like he's waiting for the next hit.
"Here's what happens if you say no," Sera says quietly. "I make a call. The people with your brother put a bullet in his head. Then they dump him in the river, and this time there won't be a funeral because there won't be enough left to bury. You'll spend the rest of your life wondering if you could've saved him."
My hands are shaking. I press them flat against my thighs.
"Why?" I manage. "Why does the Court want me to marry him?"
"Because Julian Cross is dying," Sera says. "And you're the only one who can get him the cure."
She pulls something from her pocket—a photograph, old and creased. It shows a man in his twenties, dark-haired and sharp-eyed, standing in front of a vault door I recognize. The Ember Street vault. The one that burned with my parents inside.
"That's Julian's father," Sera says. "He died the same night your parents did. Coincidence? Maybe. But the vault they were all trying to open is still sealed. And inside is something Julian needs before the next eclipse. Four weeks from now."
"What happens at the eclipse?"
Sera doesn't answer. She just slides the contract across the table toward me.
I pick it up. The text is dense, full of legal words I barely understand. But the important parts are clear enough. Marriage. Binding. Blood witness required.
At the bottom, two signature lines. One already filled in, in handwriting I don't recognize: *Julian Cross*.
"He already signed?" I ask.
Sera nods. "This morning. He doesn't have a choice either."
I look at the screen again. Evan's face. The bruise. The blood.
"If I sign this," I say slowly, "you let him go?"
"If you sign this and do what the Court asks, yes. Evan goes free. You get your brother back."
"And if I can't open the vault?"
"Then we're all in trouble." Sera straightens. "But I've seen what you can do, Nia. You'll figure it out."
I stare at the contract. My name, printed neatly on the second line, waiting for my signature.
"I need to talk to Evan first," I say.
"No."
"Then I'm not signing."
Sera's jaw tightens. For a second I think she's going to hit me. Instead, she taps her phone again. The live feed cuts to audio.
"Nia?" Evan's voice cracks through the speaker, rough and desperate. "Nia, if you can hear this—don't do it. Don't sign anything. Don't open anything for them. I don't care what they—"
The audio cuts off.
Sera pockets her phone. "That's all you get. Now sign, or I make the call."
I pick up the knife. It's smaller than I expected, the blade engraved with symbols I don't recognize. The same symbols that were on the brass candlestick at the funeral home.
"Blood witness," Sera says. "Cut your palm. Press it to the line. The contract does the rest."
I press the blade to my palm. It's sharp enough that I barely feel it. Blood wells up, hot and fast.
I press my hand to the paper.
For a second, nothing happens. Then the blood spreads, soaking into the page like the paper is drinking it. The ink shifts. My signature forms itself, letters pulling together from the red stain.
And then, at the very bottom, a new line appears. Words I didn't write, in handwriting that isn't mine:
*The groom dies at eclipse.*
I pull my hand back. The cut on my palm is already closing, skin knitting itself together like it was never there.
Sera's staring at the contract. Her face has gone pale.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"It means," she says slowly, "you just made this a lot more complicated."
She grabs the contract and folds it, her hands moving fast like she doesn't want to touch it any longer than necessary. When she looks at me again, something in her expression has changed. She's not just following orders anymore. She's scared.
"Get some sleep," Sera says. "Someone will pick you up tomorrow morning. You meet Julian at noon."
"Wait—what about Evan?"
"He stays in custody until you open the vault. That's the deal." She heads for the door, then stops. "One more thing, Nia. Don't try to run. The contract is bound now. If you break it, your brother dies. If Julian dies before the vault opens, your brother dies. You're in this whether you like it or not."
She leaves.
I'm alone in the cold house with my healed hand and a thousand questions I can't answer.
I pull out my phone. No signal. Of course.
The motel key card is still in my pocket. I turn it over, looking at the scratched-off name. Evan left me a clue. He wouldn't have risked it unless it mattered.
I need to find that motel. I need to find the ledger. And I need to figure out what the hell that last line means.
*The groom dies at eclipse.*
Julian Cross is dying. I just signed a contract that says so.
And somehow, I'm supposed to save him.