Chapter 22 · A Contract with a Short Leash

The throne did not sit in the chamber. It breathed.

Black metal rose from the floor in crooked ribs, each arch threaded with veins of blue-white light. Beneath it, the stone pulsed like a heart struggling to remember its rhythm. Every pulse tugged at the contract branded beneath Nora Vey’s collarbone.

She pressed one bloody hand against the nearest pillar and tried not to collapse.

The chamber tilted. Her vision narrowed to a bright ring. Somewhere behind her, Beckett swore as his injured leg buckled against the steps. Kane caught him by the back of his coat and shoved him upright.

‘You look terrible,’ Beckett muttered.

‘You look worse.’

‘That is because I have standards.’

Nora heard them through water. The throne’s hum had entered her bones, vibrating through the fractures in her fingers and the empty channels where her magic should have been. The circuit beneath the floor recognized her.