“Step back, Vey. Now.”
Riven’s hand clamped around Mara’s wrist like a vice. He didn't even look at her. His eyes were locked on the man leaning against the mahogany desk in the center of the vault.
Soren Pike didn't move. He just smiled—a thin, oily thing that didn't reach his eyes. He looked less like a scholar and more like a vulture circling a fresh carcass.
“Careful, Holt,” Soren purred. “You’ll bruise the merchandise. And we both know how fragile this particular contract is.”
Mara yanked her arm. He didn't budge. Riven hauled her back, slamming her shoulder against his chest. He was sudden, suffocating heat. Rain and cold iron.
“Cut the games, Soren,” Riven growled. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating against Mara’s spine. “You said you had a lead on Eli. Where is he?”
Soren let out a mocking hum. He reached into his waistcoat and flicked out a jagged piece of obsidian—the Black Key. It pulsed. A dim, rhythmic throb that matched the heartbeat of the living contract currently burrowing into Mara’s veins.
“I have a lead,” Soren said, tilting the stone. “But leads aren't free. Especially when the Council has a price on both your heads. I don't run a charity for traitors.”
“I’m not a traitor,” Riven spat.
“You’re whatever the Council says you are.” Soren stepped forward, his eyes glinting. “Right now, you’re a stray dog. And the dog doesn't get the bone unless he pays the butcher.”
Heat exploded in Mara’s chest. A searing, white-hot spike that made her gasp and stumble. Riven’s grip shifted instantly—no longer restraining her, but catching her. His arm slid around her waist, hauling her upright. The contact was electric. Too close. Too much.
“He’s here,” Mara whispered, her voice shaking. “I can feel it. Eli is close.”
Soren’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? The contract is talking to you now? How intimate. Tell me, Mara, does it tell you why it chose you? Or just how much it hurts?”
“Shut up!” Riven barked. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from Soren’s gaze. “What do you want?”
“The Black Key is a map,” Soren said, pacing the perimeter of the desk. “It unlocks the deeper strata—the places where the Council hides the people they can’t actually kill. Eli is in one of those pockets. But I want the key's twin. The one you stole during the breach.”
“I didn't steal any twin,” Riven said. “I barely got out alive.”
“Lying is a bad look, Holt. It makes you look desperate.” Soren leaned in, his voice a lethal whisper. “Give me the twin, and I give you the coordinates to your brother. Or... I walk out that door and let the cleaners find you both in ten minutes.”
Mara looked up at Riven. His jaw was locked so tight it looked ready to snap. She could feel his pulse racing through the arm still wrapped around her. He wasn't scared of Soren. He was terrified of the blank spaces growing in his own mind. Every time he saved her, another piece of his life vanished.
“We don’t have it,” Mara said. She stepped out of Riven’s hold, squaring her shoulders. “But I can give you something better. I’ll let you study the contract. One hour. You want to know why it’s alive? I’m the only way you get a look.”
Soren paused. Greed flickered in his eyes. “A living contract... the first in three centuries. You’re offering yourself as a specimen?”
“I’m offering a deal,” Mara snapped. “Eli’s location for a glimpse at the magic. Take it or we leave.”
“Wait.” Riven’s hand caught her shoulder. His eyes were wide, a flash of panic hitting his face. “Mara, don’t. You don’t know what he’ll do if he gets that close to the bond.”
“He knows where Eli is, Riven!” she yelled back. “What’s a little risk compared to my brother?”
“I can’t lose more,” Riven whispered. He sounded fragile. Broken. “If he messes with the bond, I might forget... everything.”
For one heartbeat, the anger vanished. Mara reached up, her fingers brushing the rough stubble on his cheek. Riven didn't pull away. He leaned into her touch, his eyes searching hers, desperate and starving for something he couldn't name.
Soren cleared his throat. “Are we doing this, or am I calling the cleaners?”
“Fine,” Riven said, his voice returning to a hard edge. He stepped back. “One hour. No needles. No spells. No permanent marks. You give us the location first.”
“Deal.” Soren smirked. He pulled a weathered piece of parchment from a drawer—a single coordinate. He didn't hand it over. He held it just out of reach.
“First, the specimen. Come here, Mara.”
Mara took a breath and stepped toward the desk. The moment she moved, the Black Key in Soren’s hand flared a violent, angry purple. The air turned heavy. Ozone and old blood.
“Strange,” Soren murmured, his eyes narrowing. “The key isn't reacting to the contract. It's reacting to *you*.”
“What does that mean?” Mara’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“It means you aren’t just a host,” Soren’s voice dropped to a chill. “You’re the lock. And the key just found its home.”
Suddenly, the massive stone wall behind the desk shuddered. A muffled sound echoed from the other side. Not a scream. A voice. A voice Mara knew better than her own.
“Mara?”
She froze. “Eli?”
“Mara, get away from him!” Eli’s voice screamed from behind the stone, desperate and distant. “Don’t trust the archivist! And for the love of god... don’t let Riven remember!”