Chapter 25 · Blood Tax

"Gold or blood, Quinn. Pick one."

The chain hit my wrist before I could blink. Cold iron. Buzzing. It locked tight and yanked my arm straight out over the pile of gold still steaming on the floor.

"What the hell is this?" I snapped. "We paid. The debt's cleared. Ask your own guy!"

The auditor by the door—the one who’d just stamped us *PAID*—went white. He backed into the wall, staring at the three newcomers like they were ghosts.

Iron masks. No faces. Just slits. And each one had a black book chained to their wrist. Theirs were smoking.

The one holding me leaned in. He smelled like old ink and copper.

"Unregistered conversion," he whispered. "Five thousand gold. No tariff stamp. No declaration. And you paid with luck. Untaxed luck. That's the worst kind."

"So tax it!" My pulse was doing that weird cold thump again. Slow. Wrong. "Take ten percent. Twenty. Take it from the pile. There's plenty right there!"

Kaela stepped in hard. Her shoulder slammed into my chest, shoving me back. Her hand was already on her knife.

"Let him go," she said. Low. Flat. "Now."

The auditor didn't even look at her.