Chapter 26 · The Man Who Sold Him In

Marcus had Orin by the collar, and the drop behind him was about forty feet of jagged vault machinery.

"You knew," Marcus said. His knuckles were white. "You knew what that lyre would do."

Orin didn't struggle. He just hung there, toes scraping the edge of the platform, hands loose at his sides. His face was calm. Almost bored. "I knew it was keyed. Yes."

"Keyed to what?"

"To someone who could fix things." Orin's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he was explaining how to brew tea. "The Trial doesn't pull random idiots, Marcus. It pulls Makers. People who see the break and can't leave it alone."

Marcus's grip tightened. The fabric bunched under his fingers. Orin's weight shifted slightly, and for half a second Marcus felt the pull—just let go, just let the bastard fall. His hand started to open.

Then it didn't.

His fingers clamped down harder instead, dragging Orin back from the edge. Marcus shoved him against the vault wall, breath coming fast. "Why me?"

"Because you were desperate." Orin straightened his collar, smoothed the wrinkles Marcus had put there. "Broke. Three months behind on rent.