"Get your hands off me!"
Lorne shrieked, scrambling backward. A jagged slab of obsidian and rusted iron—the entity—slammed into the brick wall inches from her head. Dust exploded.
Cade’s hand clamped around her wrist. He didn't pull her; he yanked her bodily into a narrow alley, his shoulder slamming into hers. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but he didn't let go. He pinned her against the damp brick, his chest heaving. He smelled of rain and old metal.
"Stop fighting me for five seconds," he hissed. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "You want to be a smear on the pavement? Because that's how this ends if you keep screaming."
Lorne glared up at him, heart hammering. "You dragged me into this! You're the one with the target on your back, Rook. Why the hell am I being hunted by a piece of architecture?"
"Because you're chained to me, remember?"
He didn't move. He stayed right there, crowding her space, eyes scanning the mouth of the alley. "My sister doesn't just want me dead. She wants the key. And right now, you're the only thing keeping that key from being a paperweight."
Lorne tried to wrench her arm away. He tightened his grip, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of her inner wrist.
Jolt.
Not fear. Something sharper. A flash of grief that wasn't hers. It was his.
"Let go," she breathed. "You're hurting me."
Cade looked at her wrist, then her eyes. His expression softened for a heartbeat before the mask slammed back down. He released her abruptly, stepping back just enough to let her breathe, but not enough to let her run.
"The bounty," Lorne snapped, her voice jagged. "Serra offered enough to clear my father's debt. All of it. One phone call, Cade. That's all it takes."
Cade let out a sharp, humorless laugh. He leaned in, his voice a dangerous murmur against her ear. "You think she'll actually pay you? My sister doesn't pay debts, Lorne. She buys people. You hand me over, and you're not free. You're just a different kind of prisoner. Maybe one with a shorter leash."
Lorne opened her mouth to snap back, but a metallic groan echoed through the alley.
The obsidian door had found them.
It didn't walk. It shifted, sliding through the air like a shark in dark water, slicing through the brickwork of the surrounding buildings.
"Run," Cade commanded.
"Where?"
"Just run!"
He grabbed her hand—fingers interlocking this time, a desperate, grounding heat—and bolted. They tore through the labyrinth of Greyhaven's lower district, dodging crates of rotting produce and leaping over open gutters. Every time Lorne slowed, the chain between them snapped taut, yanking her forward.
"This is bullshit!" she yelled as they dove into a derelict clockmaker's shop. "Why is it following me? I'm just a lockbreaker!"
"You're not just a lockbreaker," Cade panted. He slammed the heavy oak door shut and threw the bolt. He slid down the wood until he hit the floor. "You're a catalyst. That door isn't hunting you. It's trying to return to you."
Lorne stood among the frozen clock faces and skeletal gears. She looked down. The black lockhole embedded in her skin was pulsing. A slow, rhythmic throb. It matched her heartbeat.
"What does that mean?" she demanded, stepping toward him. "Return to me? I've never seen that thing in my life."
Cade looked up. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes deep and dark. "The doors aren't just gates, Lorne. They're archives. Every time a door is sealed or broken, it swallows a piece of the person who closed it. A memory. A secret. A piece of their soul."
Lorne froze. "You're lying."
"Am I?"
He stood up slowly, his movements predatory. He stepped into her space, his presence overwhelming the small room. "Think about the memory you gave up to close the last gate. Do you even remember what it was?"
Lorne blinked. She searched. Nothing. Just a jagged hole, a blurred silhouette of something that used to matter. Cold panic flared in her gut.
"I... I don't know. I can't remember."
"Exactly."
Cade reached out. His fingers hovered an inch from the lockhole on her chest. He didn't touch her, but the static electricity between them was electric. The tension pulled her toward him.
"My sister knows exactly what you're missing," he whispered. "She' not just hunting us. She's collecting the pieces."
Lorne stepped back, her heel catching on a loose floorboard. "Why tell me this? Why not just use me to open the main gate and toss me to the wolves?"
Cade's gaze dropped to her lips, then snapped back to her eyes. "Maybe I am using you. Maybe this whole 'partnership' is just to keep you from selling me out."
"You bastard," she whispered. "You've been playing me since the start."
"Welcome to Greyhaven," he replied, voice cold. "Nobody does anything for free."
*Groan.*
The ceiling didn't collapse—it dissolved. The obsidian door merged with the room, unfolding like origami. The air turned frigid, smelling of ozone and ancient dust.
As the door opened, it didn't lead outside. It led to a nursery.
Lorne gasped. The room was bathed in amber light. A wooden crib sat in the center, draped in white lace. Inside was a baby—small, pale, with a tiny, unmistakable black mark on its chest.
"Is that..."
"Don't look at it!" Cade grabbed her shoulder, trying to yank her back. "It's a lure. It's not real!"
But Lorne couldn't move. A physical pull, a hook in her gut, dragged her toward the threshold. She took one step. Then another.
"Lorne, get back!" Cade yelled.
She didn't hear him. She was staring at the child. Then, a figure stepped into the frame. A woman in a sharp, charcoal-grey suit, hair in a lethal bun. Cold eyes. Calculating.
Serra Rook.
In the memory, Serra didn't look at the baby. She looked straight through the void, straight through time, and locked eyes with the present-day Lorne.
Serra smiled—a thin, cruel line—and reached down to touch the baby's cheek.
"Found you," the memory-Serra whispered.
The voice didn't come from the door. It came from right behind Lorne's ear.
Lorne spun around, heart leaping into her throat. No one was there. Only the cold wind and Cade's voice shouting as the obsidian door began to slam shut, pulling her in with a violent, magnetic force.
"Cade!" she screamed, fingers slipping from the frame.
He lunged, his hand closing around her arm just as the door gave one final, thunderous pulse. He yanked her back, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the closing image of the baby.
For the first time, Lorne saw absolute terror in Cade's eyes.
"Who was that baby?" Lorne gasped, collapsing against him, chest heaving.
Cade didn't answer. He held her tight—almost too tight, as if she would vanish if he let go. He stared at the empty space where the door had been.
"That wasn't a memory," he whispered. "That was a promise."
Suddenly, a cold hand gripped Lorne's ankle from beneath the floorboards.