Chapter 12 · Blood Tax

“Move, or I’ll rip your arm off where it stands.”

The Auditor’s Agent didn’t scream. He didn’t even raise his voice. He just clamped my wrist in a grip like frozen iron and dragged me toward the jagged maw of the Sinkhole.

I dug my heels into the muck, but my legs were shaking. The brand on my forearm—the Blood Tax mark—wasn't just glowing. It was pulsing. A rhythmic, sickening throb that felt like a second heartbeat trying to punch its way out of my skin.

“Let him go!”

Kaela lunged. Her blade was a silver blur in the smog, aiming straight for the Agent's neck. The thing didn't even flinch. It shifted, caught her wrist mid-air, and slammed her back against a rusted shipping container. The crash made my teeth ache.

“The debt is overdue, little blade,” the Agent hissed. His voice sounded like two stones grinding together. “The owner is forfeit.”

“He’s not an owner, he’s a lunatic!” Kaela spat. She struggled against the grip, eyes wide with fury and a flicker of raw panic. “Silas, do something! Use the damn book!”

I looked down at the Ledger.