Chapter 10 · Neon District Hunt

"Don't move, or I'll carve a second mouth into your neck," the man hissed.

Kane froze. The blade was cold, pressed hard against the kid's windpipe. The boy couldn't have been more than fourteen, trembling so hard his teeth rattled. He was clutching a black-bordered card to his chest like it was a holy relic.

Kane didn't look at the kid. He looked at the man holding him—a low-level enforcer for the Syndicate, smelling of cheap synth-tobacco and desperation.

"Drop the card, Dealer," the enforcer spat. "And maybe I'll let the brat bleed out slowly instead of all at once."

Kane shifted his weight, his boots crunching on the shattered glass of the Neon District alley. The holographic billboards above them flickered, casting rhythmic strobes of electric pink and toxic green across the grime.

"You're shaking," Kane said, his voice flat. "That's bad. You're not a steady hand. You're going to nick him before I even take a step."

"Shut up! Just give me the card!"

"Which one?" Kane asked. He reached into his coat, his fingers brushing the cold edge of his own Void deck. "The one that saves your skin, or the one that sells your soul?