Chapter 6 · The Price of a Ghost

"Get your hand off me, Calder. Now."

I shoved his chest. It was like hitting a brick wall. He didn't budge. Instead, his fingers clamped around my wrist, yanking me flush against his tactical vest. I could smell ozone and cold rain on him—the scent of a storm about to break. My heart hammered against my ribs, and it wasn't just from the fear.

"You're not going back in there," he rasped. His voice sounded raw, stripped thin by whatever hell he'd endured over twelve lifetimes.

"The ghosts are all I have left!" I twisted my arm, fighting his grip. The black ring on my finger pulsed—a dull, rhythmic throb that felt like a second heartbeat. "You told me I died twelve times. You told me I burned for this city. You think I'm just gonna walk away because a clock is ticking?"

Calder’s eyes darkened. He stepped in, crowding me against the cold stone wall. His breath hitched, warm against my cheek. For a second, the anger vanished, replaced by something so desperate it made my stomach flip.