Chapter 12 · The Price of a Name

"Don't move another inch, Mara. I mean it."

Riven's voice was a low grate. His hand clamped tight around her upper arm, fingers digging into her skin. He didn't look at her; his eyes were locked on the shimmering, translucent veil of the vault door.

"Get off me," Mara snapped. She didn't pull away—she couldn't. The air tasted like ozone and old copper, thick enough to choke on. "You dragged me into this hole. Let go before I bite you."

"You'll bite nothing." Riven shifted his grip, yanking her flush against his side.

Body heat bled through his leather coat, a sudden, sharp contrast to the unnatural chill of the vault. Mara stiffened, her breath hitching as she felt the hard line of his chest against her shoulder.

"The moment we step through that veil, the vault starts eating," he muttered. "It doesn't want gold. It wants identity."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means if you don't have a tether, you walk out without a name. No past. Just a ghost in a living body." He finally looked at her, his tone clinical, the warmth from hours ago gone.