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"Don't move or I pin the other wing."
The gargoyle froze halfway through the window. Stone fingers gripped the frame. His head swiveled back, slow, and one yellow eye found me in the dark.
"You're the auditor," he said.
"Mara Voss. And you're Calder Quill." I kept the silver spike steady in my left hand. My right held the binding certificate, already half-signed in his blood. "Accused of stealing the Brassgate ward-core three nights ago. That about cover it?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me. His wings were cracked leather and old scars, folded tight against his back. Claws scraped the sill.
"You going to come quietly?" I said.
"No."
"Good. I get paid more if you run."
He moved. Fast. Launched himself backward off the ledge into open air. I swore and lunged after him, spike first, and caught the edge of his left wing as he dropped. The silver sank in clean. He roared. The sound rattled the bricks.
Then he didn't fall.
He twisted midair and grabbed the drainpipe, claws shrieking against metal, and hauled himself back up. Blood the color of wet ash dripped from the wound. He landed on the roof two feet from me, breathing hard.
"That hurt," he said.
"It's supposed to."
"You always this friendly?"
"Only when I'm three weeks behind on rent." I pulled the second spike from my belt. "Now hold still."
He could've hit me. Should've. His claws were out and I was close enough to smell the stone dust on his skin. But he just stood there, chest heaving, yellow eyes locked on mine.
"I didn't take the core," he said.
"Sure."
"I'm serious."
"They all are." I stepped closer. "And I don't care. The city says you did it. The relic office wants you in chains. That's all I need."
"You really believe that?"
I hesitated. Just for a second. His voice didn't sound like a liar's. It sounded tired. Angry. Scared, maybe, under all the stone and snarl.
But I had four hundred silver riding on this job, and Finn Pike didn't give refunds.
"Doesn't matter what I believe," I said.
I lunged.
He caught my wrist before the spike touched him. His grip was warm. Not cold like I expected. His thumb pressed against my pulse and I felt his claws prick skin.
"Let go," I said.
"Listen to me."
"Let go or I'll—"
"Or you'll what?" He pulled me closer. We were inches apart now. I could see the cracks in his face, the old chips along his jaw. His breath smelled like rain and copper. "Spike the other wing? Fine. Do it. But you're still going to hear me out."
I tried to jerk free. Couldn't. His grip was stone.
"Three nights ago I was at the Stacks," he said. "All night. Fifty witnesses. The relic office didn't even ask."
"Because you're a gargoyle."
"Because someone paid them not to."
That made me stop.
"Who?" I said.
"I don't know. But whoever took the core knew I'd take the fall. They left my blood at the scene. My claw marks on the vault door." His claws tightened on my wrist. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to keep me there. "You want to turn me in? Fine. But you're delivering the wrong guy, and the real thief walks."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because you're still asking questions."
He had a point.
I hated that he had a point.
"Let go of my wrist," I said.
"Will you listen?"
"I'm listening now."
He studied my face for a long moment. Then he let go. Stepped back. His wings shifted and the left one dragged, silver spike still buried in the membrane. He winced but didn't pull it out.
"Someone framed me," he said. "Someone with access to the vault, to my blood, to the ward-core itself. And someone who knew the relic office wouldn't care about an alibi if the suspect had claws."
"You're saying it's an inside job."
"I'm saying it's your father's case all over again."
The air left my lungs.
"What did you just say?"
"Marcus Voss. Spell-auditor. Went missing two years ago investigating ward tampering in the west quarter." Calder's voice was flat now. Careful. "The relic office closed it as accidental. No body. No evidence. No questions." He tilted his head. "You really think that was clean?"
My hand tightened on the spike.
"Don't," I said.
"Don't what?"
"Don't use my father to get out of this."
"I'm not using him. I'm telling you the truth." He took a step forward. I raised the spike. He didn't stop. "The same office that buried his case is the one that wants me in chains. The same senior officer who signed off on his death just put a bounty on my head. Her name's Seraphine Vale, and she's the one who—"
"Shut up."
"—who's been running black trades out of the ward vault for three years, and your father found out, and now she needs someone to take the fall for the core theft before the Guild asks questions."
I wanted to call him a liar.
I wanted to put the spike through his throat and collect my four hundred silver and go home.
But my father's file was still sitting on my kitchen table. Unsigned. Unfinished. The relic office had never let me see the full report.
"Prove it," I said.
"I can't. Not from a cell." Calder's wings flared slightly, then folded again. "But if you give me twelve hours, I can show you the vault logs. The blood work. The real timeline."
"Twelve hours and you'll be halfway to the coast."
"Then bind me."
I blinked.
"What?"
"You've got the certificate. You've got my blood." He held out his wrist. "Bind me to you. I run, you drag me back. I lie, the cuff burns me. Twelve hours. That's all I need."
It was a terrible idea.
It was the worst idea I'd heard all month.
But I pulled the certificate from my pocket anyway.
"If you're lying," I said, "I will personally deliver you to Vale in pieces."
"Deal."
I pressed the certificate to his wrist and spoke the binding clause. The paper flared white, then red. The spell wrapped around his arm like a brand, then snapped across the space between us and locked onto my wrist.
I felt it sink in. Hot. Tight. Permanent.
"Wait," I said.
"What's wrong?" Calder leaned in, frowning at the glowing cuff.
"This isn't a standard bind. This is—" I turned my wrist over and the symbols burned brighter. A countdown had appeared in the center, red and ticking. "This is a death clause."
"A what?"
"Someone altered the certificate." My throat went dry. "We've got till midnight. If the bind isn't broken by then, one of us dies and the other—" I looked up at him. "The other turns to gravel."
Calder stared at the countdown.
Then at me.
"Well," he said. "That's new."
Footsteps echoed from the alley below. Voices. The relic officers were close.
"Who gave you that certificate?" Calder said.
I thought of Finn Pike. His crooked grin. The way he'd slid the job across the table and said easy money.
"We need to move," I said.
"Who gave it to you?"
"Now, Quill."
He grabbed my arm—the one with the cuff—and pulled me toward the edge of the roof.
"Wait, what are you—"
"Hold on."
He jumped.
And dragged me with him into the dark.