"Move. Now. Or I'll let the guards find us and you can explain the handcuffs to them."
Kane’s voice was a low vibration. Nora felt it in her teeth, right through the chain linking their wrists.
She didn't budge. She slammed her shoulder back against the damp brick of the alley, chest heaving. The magic in her veins had stopped screaming—Kane’s proximity acted like a mute button—but the blood-oath was still there. A cold, heavy weight in her chest that threatened to crush her heart if she dared to lie.
"I'm not moving until you tell me where the hell Milo is," Nora snapped.
She yanked her arm. The cuffs jerked her forward, slamming her chest hard against Kane’s leather jacket.
He didn't flinch. He leaned in. Cedar, old parchment, and pure danger filled her lungs. He looked down at her with predatory eyes, a smirk playing on his lips that made her want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
"Patience, Nora. The boy is a courier. He doesn't just vanish; he hides. And right now? We're both hiding," he whispered.
His hand shifted. His fingers grazed the small of her back. A jolt of heat shot through her that had nothing to do with magic.
"Get your hand off me," she spat. She didn't pull away.
"Make me," he countered. "Oh, wait. You can't. We're literally bound. If you want your brother's soul back in six days, stop playing the grudge match and start walking."
Nora gritted her teeth. He had the info. He had the stability her magic needed. He had the oath. She had a deadline and a brother who was currently a ghost in a debt collector's jar.
"Fine," she breathed. "But if this is a trap, I'll make sure we're both dead before the guards hit the door."
"I love it when you're threatening," Kane said. He tugged her out of the shadows and toward the Lower Wards.
They navigated the sludge-filled veins of the city. Above them, royal banners looked like executioner's nooses. Every few blocks, Royal Enforcers marched past, armor clanking, eyes scanning for a fugitive prince and a rogue hunter.
"Why do you even care about the ledger?" Nora asked. Her voice was tight. Her shoulder brushed his with every step. The friction of their clothes, the shared rhythm—it was messing with her head. "It's a list of debts. Why is a royal fugitive risking his neck for a book of accounts?"
Kane stopped dead.
He yanked her into a narrow alcove, pinning her against the stone. The move was so sudden Nora lost her breath. He was too close. She could see the gold flecks in his iris, the slight scar crossing his jaw.
"It's not just a list, Nora," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's a map. A map of every lie the Crown has told for twenty years. Including the one about why your brother's soul was 'forfeited' in the first place."
Nora froze. The air between them turned electric. "What do you mean?"
Kane’s gaze softened, but the intensity didn't break. "You think it was bad luck? A gambling debt? Silas Vorn doesn't take interest in nobodies. He takes what the Crown tells him to take."
A high-pitched whistle pierced the air.
"Down!" Kane barked.
He grabbed her waist and yanked her flat against the cobblestones. A volley of silver-tipped bolts hissed overhead, slamming into the opposite wall with a metallic *thwack*.
"Damn it!" Nora hissed. Her hand flew to her dagger. "Who the hell is—"
"The Broker's hounds," Kane groaned. His chest pressed hard into her back, pinning her down. "Vorn doesn't like it when people go looking for his books."
Nora felt the magic surge—not a blast, but a sharp needle of energy. It was reacting to him. The closer he was, the more the power obeyed. She shifted, her hip sliding against his.
"Stay still," he commanded, his breath hot against her ear. "If you flare your magic now, every Enforcer in the district will be on us in ten seconds."
"I can take them," she whispered. Her voice trembled.
"You can't even stand up without tripping over your own feet," he mocked. But he didn't let go. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him. For a second, the assassins didn't matter. Only the suffocating tension of his body against hers did.
"I hate you," she murmured into the dirt.
"The oath says you're telling the truth," he whispered back. "But your heart is beating way too fast for someone who hates me."
Nora shoved him off with a snarl and scrambled up, dragging him with her. "Shut up and find the kid!"
They sprinted three more blocks, dodging through a laundry district. The smell of lye and wet wool masked their scent. Finally, they hit a derelict clocktower, its gears frozen in a rusted scream.
At the base, huddled behind rotting crates, was Milo. The courier looked like he’d been through a meat grinder—clothes torn, face smeared with soot, clutching a leather-bound book to his chest like a holy relic.
"Nora!" Milo shrieked. "You're alive! And you're... attached to him? What the hell is this?"
"Long story, Milo. Give me the ledger," Nora demanded.
Kane stepped up beside her, his presence a heavy weight. "Careful, kid. That book has a habit of killing people who hold it too long."
Milo looked between them, eyes wide. "I can't! I was told to wait for the signal! If I hand it over early, the debt-lock triggers!"
"The signal is gone," Nora said. Her eyes went hard. "The guards are sweeping the sector. Give it to me now, or you're not living to see the signal."
"But—"
"Give it," Kane commanded. The authority in his voice was absolute. It wasn't a request; it was an erasure of any other option.
Milo shivered and extended the book. As Nora’s fingers brushed the leather, a spark of static jumped. The book didn't feel like paper. It felt alive. It recognized her.
She snatched it, pulling Kane and Milo back into the shadows. She flipped the cover open. The pages were yellowed, smelling of old blood.
"Let's see what's so important that people are dying for it," she muttered.
She flipped through lists of names—nobles, merchants, street rats—all marked with red ink and soul-prices. Then, the pages began to flip on their own. A gust of wind, or something darker, whipped the parchment forward, stopping abruptly on a page that looked freshly written.
Nora’s breath hitched.
There, in stark, blood-red calligraphy, was Milo’s name. Underneath it, a designation that made her stomach drop:
*Royal Core Key. Transfer at midnight.*
"What the hell is a Core Key?" Nora whispered.
Then she looked at the line immediately below Milo’s. Her heart stopped. The ink was still wet, shimmering under the dim light.
*Secondary Anchor: Nora Vey.*
"Nora?" Kane asked. He noticed her go rigid. "What does it say?"
Nora didn't answer. She stared at her own name, the letters pulsing like a heartbeat, as the book began to glow with a sickly, golden light.