Chapter 28 · My Mom Died Here

The pen was already in my hand.

Not a normal pen, either. Bone-white shaft. Silver nib. The kind of thing some rich creep would keep in a glass case and call history.

My wrist was chained to the black stone altar. The old debt mark burned under the cuff of my jacket, hot enough that my fingers kept twitching around the pen.

Across from me, the Collector smiled behind his gold half-mask.

"Just sign, Quinn."

Behind him, my father hung from a hooked iron frame with both wrists tied above his head.

He looked thinner than the man in the video. Older, too. Blood ran from one side of his face and down his neck. His eyes found mine anyway.

"Don't," he said.

The Collector gave the rope a lazy tug.

Dad cried out.

Every muscle in my body locked.

"You touch him again—"

"You will what?" the Collector asked. "You have one hand chained down, your wolf is dying on the floor, and that charming little ring has been eating through your nerves for days. Please. Finish the sentence.