Chapter 18 · The Seventh Collection

"You're the one who took my brother."

The ghost stood in the center of the warehouse, translucent and flickering like bad footage. Male. Mid-twenties when he died. His eyes locked on me, and I felt the weight of every collection I'd ever closed.

Iris stepped closer to my side. "Cade."

"Stay back," I said.

"You can't die again." Her voice was tight. "Not here. Not now."

"I know."

The ghost moved. Not walked—moved. One second across the room, the next right in front of me. His hand went through my chest, cold enough to stop my heart.

"Seven years," he said. "Seven years he screamed your name before he went quiet."

I didn't flinch. "What's your name?"

"You don't get to ask that."

"I need it for the collection."

"You need it so you can forget me, too." His hand twisted inside my ribs. The cold turned to ice, then to fire. "Just like you forgot him."

Iris moved. I caught her wrist before she could step between us. "Don't."

"He's killing you."

"He's trying." I looked at the ghost. "Your brother. What was his debt?"

"He didn't have one. You made it up."

"I don't make them up.