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"They're coming for the coin."
Calder said it flat, like he was ordering breakfast. We'd been walking for maybe ten minutes, my wrist still cuffed to his, and now he stopped in the middle of the alley like he'd just remembered he left the stove on.
I yanked the chain. "What coin?"
"The half you saw." He turned his head, stone scraping stone. "The one your father left me before he disappeared."
My chest went tight. "You said it was proof. Proof of what?"
"That someone wanted him gone. That same someone wants me dead now." He scanned the rooftops, wings twitching. "And they'll burn through you to get it."
"Then give it to me."
"No."
"Calder—"
"Not until you understand what it costs." His voice dropped, and I hated how steady it was. "The second you hold it, you're in. No walking away. No handing it to the relic officers and going home."
I pulled the cuff hard enough to feel the spell bite my skin. "I'm already in. You made sure of that when you let them brand me an accomplice."
He didn't flinch. "Then you'll want to survive the next hour."
Footsteps. Heavy, synchronized. Three, maybe four pairs.
Calder shoved me into the alcove behind a broken water pipe, his body blocking mine. The stone of his chest was cold through my jacket, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders, coiled like he was ready to rip someone's throat out.
"Stay quiet," he breathed.
"Don't tell me what to—"
His hand covered my mouth. Not rough, but firm enough that I tasted dust and something metallic. His claws rested just under my jaw, and I could feel my pulse hammering against them.
The footsteps stopped at the mouth of the alley.
"Voss came through here." A woman's voice. Clipped, efficient. "The cuff tracker puts her forty feet in."
Another voice, male, bored. "She's got the gargoyle. You want us to bring him in pieces or whole?"
"Alive. Both of them. Vale wants them for questioning."
Calder's hand tightened. I bit the inside of my cheek and stayed still.
"Sweep the alcoves," the woman ordered. "If they ran, the chain won't let them get far."
I counted four sets of boots. Regulation-issue, the kind that rang on cobblestone and didn't care who heard. One pair stopped five feet away. I could see the edge of a brass badge through the gap in the pipe.
Calder's breath was cold against my temple. His other hand, the one not covering my mouth, moved to the coin pouch on his belt. Slowly. Carefully. He pulled something out and pressed it into my palm.
Metal. Warm from his body. I didn't look down, but I knew what it was.
The half-coin.
The officer with the badge kicked a crate. "Nothing here."
"Check the next block," the woman said. "They can't vanish."
The footsteps moved on. Faded. Gone.
Calder pulled his hand away from my mouth and stepped back, but the alcove was too small. His wings scraped the wall, and I was still pressed against the pipe with nowhere to go.
I looked down at the coin. It was heavier than I expected, the edge jagged where it had been split. There was an engraving on one side—half of a sigil I didn't recognize. The other side had a name scratched in tiny, precise letters.
Voss.
"Where's the other half?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying." He leaned against the opposite wall, stone shoulders sagging just a fraction. "Your father gave me this three years ago. Said if anything happened to him, I was supposed to find the match and bring both pieces to someone in the Old Registry. He didn't say who. Didn't say why."
I turned the coin over in my hand. The sigil looked old. Pre-ward, maybe. The kind of thing that belonged in a vault, not a gargoyle's pocket.
"Why you?" I asked. "Why would my father trust you?"
Calder's eye—the one that wasn't half-shut from cracks—fixed on me. "Because I owed him."
"For what?"
"For not killing me when he had the chance."
I waited. He didn't elaborate.
"That's not an answer," I said.
"It's the only one you're getting right now." He pushed off the wall and jerked his head toward the far end of the alley. "We need to move. If they're using cuff trackers, they'll circle back."
I pocketed the coin and followed, the chain dragging between us. My wrist was raw under the cuff, and I could feel the spell humming, counting down.
"How long do we have?" I asked.
"On the cuff? Maybe sixteen hours."
"And if we don't clear your name by then?"
"You die. I turn to gravel. The coin goes back to whoever framed me, and they bury your father's case for good."
I kicked a loose brick. It clattered down the alley. "Great. Love a good motivational speech."
Calder almost smiled. Almost. "You're welcome."
We hit the Monster Blocks just after the third bell. The buildings here leaned on each other like drunks, half of them held together by scrap iron and prayer. The streets smelled like rust and old meat, and every shadow had eyes.
Finn Pike's place was at the end of a dead-end lane, marked by a door with no handle and a sigil that glowed faint red when I got close.
I knocked. Three times, then twice.
The door cracked open. Finn's face appeared, pale and sharp and way too awake for this hour.
"Mara. Calder." He looked at the cuff. "You two get married or something?"
"Open the door, Finn."
"Can't. You've got a tail."
I glanced back. The alley was empty.
"Not literal," Finn said. "Tracker spell. Someone's riding your cuff signature."
Calder swore under his breath. It was short and guttural and sounded like grinding stone.
"Can you scrub it?" I asked.
Finn chewed his lip. "Maybe. Cost you."
"I'm already paying you."
"That was for the job. This is for saving your life. Different rate."
I pulled the coin out of my pocket and held it up. "How about this?"
Finn's eyes went wide. Then narrow. Then he opened the door.
"Get in. Fast."
The inside of Finn's place was organized chaos—shelves crammed with jars, loose wire, scrolls, and things I didn't have names for. He locked the door behind us and slapped a palm on the frame. The red sigil flared, then died.
"That'll hold for ten minutes," he said. "Maybe twelve."
He grabbed my wrist and ran his thumb over the cuff. His nails were bitten short, and his hands smelled like sulfur and parchment.
"Yeah, you're lit up like a firework. Whoever tagged you knows their stuff." He squinted at Calder. "You too. Double signature. They're tracking the pair."
Calder folded his arms. "Can you kill it or not?"
"I can muffle it. Buy you a couple hours." Finn let go of my wrist and crossed to a workbench covered in tools and half-assembled spell components. "But it won't last. You need the source scrubbed, and that means going back to whoever cast it."
"Seraphine," I said.
Finn paused. Looked at me. "Vale?"
"Yeah."
"Then you're screwed." He picked up a pair of brass tweezers and a vial of something dark and viscous. "She doesn't let go. Ever."
"She let my father go," I said.
Finn stopped. Put the tweezers down.
"What?" I asked.
He turned around, and for the first time since I'd known him, Finn looked rattled.
"Mara," he said slowly. "Your father didn't just go. He was erased. Files pulled, case sealed, name scrubbed from the registry."
"I know that. I've been trying to unseal it for three years."
"No. I mean he was erased two weeks ago."
My stomach dropped.
"What are you talking about?"
Finn crossed to the back wall and pulled down a crate. Inside were stacks of loose files, some charred at the edges, others water-stained. He dug through them and pulled out a thin folder.
"I pulled this from the archive burn pile last month. Thought it was junk." He handed it to me. "It's not."
I opened it. The first page was a requisition form, dated two weeks ago. Official relic office seal. Subject: Voss, T. Status: Permanent Hold.
The second page was a note. Handwritten. The ink was dark, almost black, and the letters were uneven, like someone had written it in a hurry.
Or in blood.
It said: I'm still alive. Don't let them tell you otherwise. — T.V.
My hands shook. I looked up at Finn.
"Where did you get this?"
"The archive. The locked one. The one Vale personally oversees."
Calder moved closer, reading over my shoulder. His breath was cold on my neck.
"Mara," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Finn watched us both. "So. You two want to tell me what the hell you've stepped in, or do I start charging by the revelation?"
I closed the folder. My pulse was loud in my ears.
"Finn," I said. "How recent is that note?"
He checked the file number. Cross-referenced it with a ledger on the shelf.
"Two weeks," he said. "Maybe less."
I looked at Calder. He looked at me.
"He's alive," I said.
"Or someone wants you to think he is," Calder said.
Finn cleared his throat. "Uh, folks? Hate to interrupt the family moment, but that tracker muffler? It just failed."
The red sigil on the door flared bright, then cracked down the middle.
Someone knocked. Three times. Hard.
"Voss," a voice called from outside. Calm. Female. Seraphine.
"Open the door, or we take it off the hinges."
Finn backed up. I looked at the folder in my hand, then at Calder.
He didn't move. Just stared at the door, wings flaring.
"Your call," he said.
I tucked the folder into my jacket and grabbed Finn's arm.
"Back door. Now."
Finn pointed at the far wall. "Behind the shelf. Goes to the undercroft. But Mara—"
The door exploded inward.
Seraphine stepped through the smoke, flanked by four officers in full tactical rig. She looked at me, then at Calder, then at the folder sticking out of my jacket.
She smiled.
"Hello, Mara," she said. "Let's talk about your father."