Chapter 19 · The Market's Last Night

"Give it back, Evelyn. Now."

I didn't shout. I didn't have to. My voice was a flat line—the kind that usually meant someone was about to bleed.

I stepped closer, boots clicking on the damp stone of the vault. The air tasted like ozone and old copper. Evelyn Thorne didn't even look up from the ledger. She leaned back against a mahogany desk that cost more than the entire slum, swirling a glass of amber liquid.

"You're asking for memories, Mara. Not silver. Not gold. Just... ghost stories."

"Those 'ghost stories' are all I have left of my brother," I snapped.

I lunged for the ledger, but a heavy hand clamped onto my shoulder, wrenching me back.

I didn't need to look. Dax. His grip was iron, his chest slamming into my back. He was too close—he’d been too close for weeks. I could feel the heat radiating through his clothes, the scent of rain and cedar cutting through the musk of the vault.

"Easy," Dax murmured. His breath grazed my ear, sending a shiver down my spine that I hated. "She won't give them up for free. You know Evelyn.