Chapter 8 · Buy a Street

"Ten years, Silas. That's the price for her arm," Varric sneered.

He stepped closer, polished boots clicking on the cobblestones. He looked at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush slowly. "Ten years of your miserable, broke life just to scrub a little ink off a mercenary's skin. Tell me—is she worth a decade of breathing?"

I couldn't answer. My lungs felt like they were filled with wet cement. I looked at Kaela. She was stiff, blade drawn, but her eyes were wide. She wasn't watching Varric. She was watching me like I was already a ghost.

"Don't do it," she hissed. "Silas, don't you dare."

"Shut up," Varric snapped.

His gloved hand shot out, gripping my chin and forcing my head up. Hard. His grip bruised. "The Ledger is a hungry thing, isn't it? It doesn't want gold. It wants the only thing you actually own. Your time."

I jerked back, spitting right next to his boot. "I'm not giving you the book."

Varric laughed. It was a dry, rattling sound. "You misunderstand. I don't want you to give it to me. I want to watch you spend yourself into a grave trying to play hero.