Chapter 12 · The Blood Key

"Get your hands off her!"

Calder’s voice cracked through the chaos like a whip. He didn't wait for a response. He slammed his shoulder into the lead gunman, sending the man spiraling into a row of luggage racks. The impact sounded like a car crash in the narrow train corridor.

I didn't move. I couldn't. Two men in black tactical gear had me pinned against the cold metal wall. Their grip on my wrists was so tight I could feel the bone groaning. One of them pressed a humming, jagged blade right against the pulse point of my neck.

"Quiet, Officer Rane," the man whispered. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and chemicals. "The Council doesn't want the girl dead. Not yet. She's far too valuable as a doorstop."

Calder stepped forward, boots clicking. He didn't look at me; he looked at the knife. His eyes were cold—that same lethal stillness he'd had when he was hunting me through the slums.

"She's my prisoner," Calder said, his voice dropping an octave. "Step back, or I'll make sure you don't live to see the reset."

"Your prisoner?" The man let out a dry, rattling laugh. "You're delusional. She's the key.