Chapter 7 · The Price of Protection

“Don’t even breathe.”

The blade pressed deeper into Riven’s throat. The killer’s voice was a jagged rasp, cold and steady. “One twitch from either of you, and I’ll see if the Chief Spellbreaker bleeds gold or just plain red.”

Mara froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs—a trapped bird. A thin line of blood beaded where the steel met skin.

Riven didn’t move. He didn’t even look at the knife. He looked at Mara. His eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were empty. Like a house gutted by fire and left to rot.

“Who the hell are you?” Mara snapped. Her voice shook, but she stepped forward. Her palm burned, the blood-map of the contract pulsing under her skin. “You’re not Council. Council doesn’t use street blades.”

“Council pays for the cleanup,” the killer chuckled. He tightened his grip on Riven, jerking his head back. “I’m the one who does the cutting. I’ve been tracking this contract since it left the vault. And you?”

He grinned. “You’re just the delivery girl who forgot she was the package.”

“A ritualist.”

Soren stepped from the shadows, glasses glinting. “A true sacrificial blade. I thought the Council phased out the old ways.