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The client's hand shakes when he slides the coin pouch across the table.
Mara doesn't touch it yet. She's learned that much in three years of cracking locks people aren't supposed to crack. You don't take the money until you know what kind of stupid you're buying into.
"Execution tower," the man says. His voice cracks on the second word. "Fifth floor. Before dawn."
Mara leans back in her chair. The tavern's back room smells like old beer and newer lies. She can taste both. "That's a hanging job. I don't do hanging jobs."
"Double rate."
"Triple rate doesn't fix dead."
The client pushes the pouch closer. It's heavier than it should be. She can see the bulge of something else inside. Not just coins.
"There's a key in there," he says. "Your brother's key."
Mara's hand stops halfway to her cup. The tavern noise doesn't change but everything else does. The weight of the air. The taste of her own spit.
"I don't have a brother."
"Elias Voss. Missing two years. You've been looking." The client's not shaking anymore. Now he's watching her like he's solved her. "The key's real. It'll get you through the first three wards. You'll need your own skill for the rest."
She wants to call him a liar. She wants to walk out. She's wanted a lot of things since Elias disappeared and wanting doesn't buy food or answers.
Mara opens the pouch. The coins are real. Greyhaven marks. Enough to eat for six months or get out of the city for good.
The key sits on top.
It's small. Bone handle. The teeth are carved in Elias's style, the pattern he used when he wanted to make sure only he could crack it again. She's seen this key in her dreams for two years. She's imagined it in a hundred places. A pawn shop. A gutter. Elias's cold hand.
She never imagined it in a job offer.
"Who's the target?" Her voice sounds normal. That's good. She needs it to sound normal.
"Julian Rook."
Mara laughs. It's not a nice sound. "You're insane."
"I'm paying."
"You're paying me to break out the guy every blood family in Greyhaven wants dead. The guy whose execution is supposed to happen at dawn. The guy who's probably locked behind seventeen wards and a blood seal I can't crack even if I wanted to." She shoves the pouch back across the table. "Find another locksmith."
The client doesn't take the pouch. He just sits there. Staring at her.
"Your brother died for this," he says quietly.
The room goes cold.
"Elias isn't dead."
"Then why do you have his key?"
Mara stands up so fast her chair hits the wall. The client doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Just watches her with eyes that know exactly what he's doing.
"Elias left a message," he says. "In the lock. Fifth floor. Tower cell. You'll hear it when you open the door."
Mara walks out. She takes the pouch with her.
She tells herself she'll dump it in the canal. She'll go home. She'll sleep.
She's a good liar but she's not that good.
---
The execution tower sits in the center of Greyhaven like a rotten tooth. Fifty feet of black stone and older magic. The kind of magic that doesn't care if you're innocent. It just holds you until someone decides you're done.
Mara stands in the alley across the street and counts the guard rotations. Two at the door. One on the second-floor landing. The rest are probably inside. Sleeping or drinking or placing bets on how long the Rook heir lasts under questioning.
Julian Rook. She's heard the stories. Everyone has. The golden boy of the Rook family. The one who was supposed to inherit the city's oldest contract dynasty. Then two months ago the family turned on him. Declared him oath-broken. Demanded public execution.
No one knows what he did. No one asks. When the blood families want you dead, the details don't matter.
Mara crosses the street. She's wearing her work clothes. Dark coat. Gloves. Hair tied back. She looks like every other contract runner in the city. Invisible until you need her.
The side entrance is where the client said it would be. A service door. Rusted hinges. One lock.
She kneels in front of it and pulls out Elias's key.
It slides in smooth. Too smooth. Like the lock was made for it.
She turns it.
The door opens.
No alarms. No wards. Just the smell of old stone and something else. Something burnt. Like someone tried to magic their way out and the tower ate them for trying.
Mara steps inside and closes the door behind her.
The stairs are narrow. Slick with something that might be water or might be old blood. She doesn't have a light. Doesn't need one. She's been in enough bad places to know how to move in the dark.
First floor. Empty cells. Ankle chains hanging from the walls.
Second floor. She hears the guard before she sees him. Snoring. Drunk. She slips past.
Third floor. The wards start here. She can feel them in her teeth. Little sparks of magic that want to know who she is and why she's not supposed to be here.
She pulls out her own tools. Lockpicks. Ward breakers. The kind of thing that gets you hanged if the city watch finds them.
The wards don't break. They peel. Like skin.
Fourth floor. The burnt smell is stronger now. She steps over something dark on the floor and doesn't look down.
Fifth floor.
One door. Heavy iron. Three locks. A blood seal glowing faint red in the dark.
Mara kneels in front of it. Her hands are steady. They're always steady. It's the one thing Elias taught her that stuck.
"Read the lock first," he used to say. "It'll tell you what it wants."
She presses her palm against the iron. Cold. Old magic. Angry magic.
And something else.
A whisper.
She freezes.
The whisper comes again. Not from the door. From inside it. From the lock itself.
"Mara."
That's Elias's voice.
Her brother's voice.
"Mara, if you're hearing this, you took the job. Don't open the door. Don't trust Rook. Don't—"
The voice cuts off.
Mara's heart is pounding so hard she can feel it in her throat. Her hands aren't steady anymore. They're shaking.
"Elias," she whispers. "Where are you?"
The lock doesn't answer.
She pulls out her tools. Her hands remember what to do even when her brain doesn't. First lock. Second lock. Third lock.
The blood seal is the hard part. She pulls out a vial from her pocket. Her own blood. Gathered this morning. Still warm.
She pours it over the seal.
The seal drinks it. Then it cracks.
The door swings open.
The cell is small. Dark. A man sits against the far wall. Chains on his wrists. Blood on his shirt.
He looks up when she enters.
Julian Rook is prettier than the rumors said. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes that pin her in place like she's the one in chains.
"You're late," he says.
Mara stares at him. "You were expecting me?"
"I've been expecting someone. You'll do." He stands up. The chains rattle but don't break. "Are you going to stand there or are you going to get me out?"
She should leave. She should run. She should do anything except what she does next.
She kneels in front of his chains and starts picking the locks.
"Who sent you?" Julian asks.
"Client confidentiality."
"Client's dead. They're all dead. So who really sent you?"
Mara's hands freeze. "What do you mean they're all dead?"
"I mean everyone who wanted me out is currently rotting in the canal. Happened three hours ago. Mass poisoning. Very efficient." He leans forward. His breath smells like old copper. "So I'll ask again. Who sent you?"
The first chain breaks.
"I don't know," Mara says. And she doesn't. She realizes she doesn't know anything. Not who the client was. Not why Elias's key opened the tower. Not why her brother's voice is trapped in a lock.
The second chain breaks.
Julian rubs his wrists. The skin underneath is raw. Burnt. "You have a name?"
"Mara."
"Well, Mara. We need to leave. Now."
"I need answers first."
"You'll get answers when we're not in an execution tower."
Footsteps echo from below. Voices. The guards are awake.
Julian grabs her arm. His grip is strong. Too strong for someone who's supposed to be half-dead.
"Move," he says.
They run.
The stairs are a blur. The guards are shouting. Someone rings the alarm bell. The sound cuts through the tower like a blade.
Mara's lungs are burning. Her legs are screaming. Julian is faster than he should be. He pulls her around corners. Through doors. Down passages she didn't see on the way up.
They burst out into the alley. The night air tastes like freedom.
Then Julian stops.
Mara crashes into him. "What—"
She sees it.
The key in her pocket is burning. Not hot. Cold. The kind of cold that eats skin.
She pulls it out. The bone handle is glowing. Faint green. The teeth are moving. Carving themselves into something new.
Into letters.
Into a name.
Her name.
Mara Voss.
"What the hell—" she starts.
Julian grabs her wrist. His face has gone white. "Where did you get that key?"
"My brother—"
"Your brother's dead."
The execution bell rings. Once. Twice. Three times.
The sound rolls over the city like a wave.
And the key keeps carving.
Mara.
Voss.
Bound.