"Move your feet or I'll cut them off," Kaela hissed.
She had Silas by the collar, dragging him through the muck of the lower sewers. Silas stumbled, his boots splashing into a pool of something that smelled like a century of bad decisions.
His palm was screaming. The debt-mark was a hot, pulsing brand, trying to eat its way up his wrist.
"I can't... I can't breathe," he gasped, clutching his chest.
Kaela slammed him against the damp stone wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Her hand stayed locked on his throat—not squeezing, but reminding him exactly who owned the air in his lungs.
She leaned in. Her breath was warm against his ear, her eyes scanning the tunnel for the High Collector's hounds.
"You bought my sister's curse, kid. You think that makes us friends?" Her voice dripped with a mix of gratitude and genuine hate. "It makes you a target. Right now, you're the only thing keeping me from running back to the Guild and begging for a different master."
Silas choked out a laugh. It sounded more like a sob. "I'm the one... with the book. I can buy your way out of this whole hellhole."
Kaela's grip tightened. She glanced at the Ledger clutched in his shaking hand.
"The book doesn't matter if you're dead," she whispered. "And Varric doesn't just want the book. He wants to peel that mark off your skin while you're still awake to feel it."
Silas winced. A fresh wave of heat surged through his arm. The Ledger pulsed in sync with the pain. He flipped the cover, gold pages shimmering in the gloom.
*Current Debt: 12,000 Sovereigns. Interest: 1% per hour.*
"I need to flip something," Silas muttered. "Now. Before the interest kills me or the Collector finds us."
"Flip what?" Kaela stepped back, hand returning to her blade. "We're in a sewer, Silas. There's nothing here but rats and regret."
"Not nothing." Silas pointed to a heavy, iron-bound chest half-buried in the sludge. It looked like trash, but the Ledger was humming. A golden glow pointed straight at the lid.
Kaela frowned. "That's old Guild scrap. Probably rusted shut. What's the point?"
"Just open it," Silas commanded.
She scoffed and kicked the lock. It shattered with a pathetic metallic snap. Inside, wrapped in rotting velvet, lay a handful of coins. Deep, iridescent violet.
Kaela froze. "Holy hell. Banned Imperial Marks. Carrying one of these is a one-way ticket to the silence-cells."
"Exactly," Silas said, a manic grin spreading. "Official value is zero. But the black market? People who hate the Empire? They'll pay a fortune."
"We can't just walk into a shop with these," Kaela argued, though her eyes were already greedy. "Every bounty hunter in the sector will be on us."
"We aren't going to a shop." Silas flipped a page in the Ledger. "I'm selling them to the one person who can't afford to let them be seen: The Broker."
"The Broker doesn't take new clients," Kaela snapped. "Especially not broke merchant kids who smell like sewage."
"I'm not a client." Silas's voice dropped an octave. He looked at the Ledger, then at Kaela. The power shifted. He wasn't the terrified boy anymore. "I'm the guy who has what he needs. Now, get me to the surface without getting us killed, and I'll buy you a new life. Deal?"
Kaela stared. The tension thickened—a physical weight. She stepped closer, her chest almost touching his, searching for a bluff. She could smell the sweat and the copper of blood on him.
"If you're lying," she whispered, lips inches from his, "I'll use your tongue as a bookmark."
"Fair enough," Silas breathed.
They moved through the labyrinth, Kaela leading with a predator's grace. Every time a shout echoed or a torch flickered, she shoved him into the shadows, pressing his body firmly against the cold stone.
"Stay. Quiet," she'd hiss, her hand pinning his chest. Silas could feel her heart racing through the leather of her armor. He didn't pull away. He liked the strength. He liked the way she looked at him—like a puzzle she wanted to break.
By the time they hit the surface—a rain-slicked alley in the Grey District—the debt-mark was throbbing so hard it pulsed through his sleeve.
"There," Kaela pointed to a nondescript door with a single iron knocker. "The Broker's den. But listen, Silas. Once we go in, you don't speak unless he asks. You don't touch the book unless you're closing. And for the love of the gods, don't try to be clever."
"I'm always clever," Silas retorted.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
Kaela knocked. The door creaked open an inch. A single, milky eye peered through.
"Who's knocking?"
"I have a delivery for the Broker," Kaela said firmly. "High-value. Banned."
The door swung open. The room smelled of old paper and expensive tobacco. A thin man with spider-fingers sat behind a black mahogany desk. He ignored Kaela. He looked straight at the violet coins in Silas's palm.
"Imperial Marks," the Broker murmured. "Dangerous. Where did a little rat like you find these?"
Silas stepped forward, ignoring Kaela's warning glare. "I didn't find them. I acquired them. And I'm not selling them for coin."
The Broker paused, a thin smile curling his lips. "Oh? And what does a boy with a debt-mark want instead?"
Silas felt the Ledger vibrate. He didn't want money. He wanted the location of the High Collector's main vault—the place where Varric kept the original contracts.
"I want the key to the Vault of Oaths."
The Broker laughed, a wheezing sound. "You're dreaming, kid. That key is worth more than a thousand of these coins. You're out of your league."
"Am I?" Silas opened the Ledger. The gold pages flared, blinding the room. "I'm not just selling coins. I'm selling the fact that I know who you're smuggling them for. I've seen the entries, Broker. I know the names."
It was a total bluff. But the Broker's face went pale.
"You... you couldn't have," the Broker stammered.
"Check your accounts," Silas sneered, leaning over the desk. "Or just take the coins and give me the key. I'm not here to haggle. I'm here to flip."
Silence. Then, the Broker reached into a hidden drawer and slid a heavy brass key across the table.
"Get out," the Broker whispered. "Before I change my mind and kill you both."
Silas grabbed the key, heart hammering. He turned to Kaela. She looked at him with horror and newfound respect.
"You actually did it," she breathed.
"Told you I was clever," Silas said, stepping back toward the door.
He had the key. He had a chance. He stepped one foot out of the den and back into the rainy alley, feeling the first surge of real victory in his life.
*Click.*
The cold, unmistakable press of a gun barrel jammed hard against his temple.
"Wrong move, kid," a voice growled from the shadows.
Silas froze. The voice was too familiar.
"Varric wants his book back," the man said, finger tightening on the trigger. "And he wants the key you just stole. Now, drop the Ledger, or I'll paint this alley with your brains."