Chapter 21 · The No-Morning Clause

"You signed what?"

Iris slammed the car door hard enough to crack the window. I didn't flinch. The fire was already crawling up my forearm, small licks of orange threading under the skin like veins made of light.

"A rider clause," I said. "Standard Collections enforcement addendum. Morrow wanted leverage."

"Standard." She laughed, sharp and bitter. "You don't even know what you just did."

I flexed my hand. The fire pulsed brighter, hot enough now that I could feel it pushing against bone. "Then tell me."

"Get in the car."

"Tell me here."

"Cade." She crossed the parking garage in three strides and grabbed my wrist, hard. Her palm was cold against the heat spreading through my veins. "Get. In. The car."

The fire flared. She didn't let go.

I got in.

She drove fast, cutting through side streets I didn't recognize, her knuckles white on the wheel. The fire had reached my shoulder now, crawling up my neck in thin bright threads. I could see them when I looked down—glowing trails just under the surface, like something was rewriting my circulatory system in real time.

"How long until it kills me?"

"It won't kill you," Iris said.