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“Don’t pull against them.”
The silver chains bite into my wrists before I can twist free. Heat crawls under my skin, searching for bone. I jerk harder anyway.
The tall hunter with the scar through his left eyebrow smiles. “She doesn’t listen.”
“Silas,” I snap. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”
“Resistance feeds the chains.” He sits against the wall, one hand clamped over the wound in his chest. Blood slips between his fingers. “You’re welcome.”
“You were busy bleeding on my floor.”
“I had a lot going on.”
The scarred hunter steps between us. “Enough.”
The other two straighten behind him.
“Your Highness,” he says. The title sounds like an insult. “The Council wants you back before dawn. Both of you.”
Silas glances at him. “Tell the Council I’ll come when I’m ready.”
“You don’t have that luxury.”
“I’m the heir. I have whatever I want.”
The hunter’s jaw tightens. “You’re in no position to test me.”
“Then stop testing me.”
His hand shifts toward my shoulder.
Silas rises too fast. His knees nearly give out, but he catches the wall and keeps his voice steady. “Touch her and I’ll have your rank.”
The room drops quiet.
The hunter’s hand stops inches from me. His eyes move from Silas to my chained wrists.
“You’re protecting a human?”
“I’m protecting my contract partner.”
“That’s not what the Council will hear.”
“Then the Council can explain why three hunters broke into my quarters without clearance.” Silas wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’ll go. She walks free until we’re inside the gate.”
The hunter studies him. “You’re still giving orders?”
“Are you still obeying them?”
One of the younger hunters shifts his grip on his silver blade.
I look at him. “If you’re going to drag me somewhere, at least tell me where.”
“Doctor Moore,” the scarred hunter says, “you don’t get to ask questions.”
“Then you don’t get to complain when I resist.”
Silas gives me a sharp look. “Ivy.”
“What? He started it.”
The hunter makes a small hand signal. The chains loosen around my wrists. They stay on, but the heat drops from unbearable to merely vicious.
I flex my fingers. “That’s your idea of walking free?”
“It’s enough.”
“It’s not.”
“Keep talking,” the hunter says, “and I’ll tighten them again.”
Silas steps closer. His shoulder brushes mine. His body is hot despite the blood soaking his shirt, and his breath catches near my ear.
“Don’t push him,” he murmurs.
“Don’t whisper orders at me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“Try using words next time instead of chains.”
His mouth tightens. “You’re only useful alive.”
There it is. The reminder I need.
I follow the hunters out.
The hallway is mine. I walk it every day after twelve-hour shifts, usually thinking about cold coffee and whether I have enough energy to make instant noodles. Now two armed strangers flank me while Silas staggers behind my shoulder.
The scarred hunter leads us to the stairs.
“Fourteen flights?” I ask.
“No elevator,” he says.
“Of course there isn’t.”
Silas grips the railing. “Move.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I can hear you.”
“Good. Then hear this: if you collapse, I’m not carrying you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’re welcome anyway.”
We make it down one flight. Then another. Silas refuses every hand the hunters offer. By the eighth, his face has gone gray. By the twelfth, fresh blood runs down his side.
I stop on the landing. “That’s enough.”
The scarred hunter turns. “Keep moving.”
“He needs treatment.”
“He needs to reach the gate.”
“He needs to not die on your stairs.”
Silas grips my elbow. His fingers are hot through my sleeve. “Don’t make this worse.”
I look down at his hand. “Let go.”
He does, but slowly.
The hunter raises his chin. “You’re not his doctor anymore.”
“I’m a doctor whether you like it or not.”
“And he’s not your patient.”
Silas’s eyes flash. “She is my contract partner.”
The hunter looks between us. “That excuse is getting old.”
“Then find a new complaint.”
We reach the ground floor.
Outside, I expect a van. Maybe a black SUV. Something that belongs in my world.
Instead, the hunter walks three blocks south and stops at a subway entrance I’ve passed a thousand times.
A metal sign hangs over the gate.
CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
I stare at it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
The hunter pulls the gate open. It doesn’t make a sound.
“After you, Doctor Moore.”
I turn to Silas. “Tell me this isn’t another death trap.”
He watches the dark stairwell. His expression gives me nothing.
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s safe.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I didn’t say it was pleasant.”
“Great. So it’s a safe death trap.”
He steps past me, one hand pressed to his chest. “Are you coming?”
“I’m considering leaving you here.”
“You won’t.”
“Don’t sound so sure.”
“Because the contract won’t let you.”
The silver chains tighten for half a second, as if to prove his point.
I swear under my breath and take the stairs.
The station below the city is older than the building above it. White tile with green trim covers the walls in broken patches. Black residue shines between the cracks. It smears across my sleeve when I brush past.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Transit,” Silas says behind me.
“You’re saying that like it explains anything.”
“The old city had tunnels before the subway.”
“Old how?”
“Older than your records.”
“Of course.”
“Most were sealed in the fifties.”
“Most?”
“The Court kept a few.”
I glance back. “What Court?”
“Keep walking.”
“I’m chained, bleeding, and being marched underground by people with knives. I think I’ve earned one answer.”
“You’ve earned nothing.”
The scarred hunter stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Two minutes.”
I look at him. “Until what?”
Nobody answers.
A vibration rolls through the platform. It starts under my shoes and climbs into my knees, slow and steady.
Silas’s face changes. “It’s coming.”
“What’s coming?”
The rails scream in the dark.
Wind slams into us, warm and stale. A black train rounds the bend without lights or windows. Two orange slits burn at the front, bright enough to look like eyes.
I step back. “That thing isn’t on any subway map.”
“No,” Silas says.
The train brakes hard. Metal shrieks. The doors slide open with a long hiss.
The scarred hunter points inside. “Get in.”
I don’t move. “What happens if I don’t?”
Silas steps onto the train. His hand catches the doorframe while he fights to stay upright.
“The contract burns us both out before sunrise,” he says. “Your choice.”
I glare at him. “You really need to stop saying that.”
“You really need to start choosing faster.”
The chains pull toward the open door.
I get in.
The train smells like copper, rot, and something sweet enough to turn my stomach. Red leather seats line the walls. Brass fixtures have gone green with age. Four passengers sit beneath the dim lights, their heads bowed and their hands folded.
None of them looks up.
The scarred hunter shoves me toward the back. “Sit.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Sit, or I’ll make you.”
“There’s the charm.”
Silas drops into the seat beside me. His shoulder presses against mine before he slumps against the wall and closes his eyes.
“You’re still bleeding,” I say.
“I know.”
“Let me see the wound.”
“No.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“You’re a liability.”
“And you’re a patient who’s about to pass out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your shirt disagrees.”
The train jerks forward. I grab the seat in front of us. My palm lands in something wet and sticky.
I pull it back. “Please tell me that’s oil.”
The scarred hunter doesn’t turn around. “It’s not oil.”
I wipe my hand on my jeans. “I hate this place.”
The train gathers speed. The platform disappears behind us. Beyond the black walls, shapes twist through the dark—too tall, too quick, moving against the direction of the train.
I look away.
“How long?” I ask.
“Twenty minutes,” the hunter says.
“To where?”
“You’ll see.”
“That answer is getting old.”
“It’s still the only one you’re getting.”
I look at Silas. His breathing is shallow now. Blood spreads beneath his hand.
“Silas.”
He doesn’t answer.
I shake his shoulder. His eyes snap open.
For one second, they’re black. No gray. No iris. Just darkness swallowing the light.
Then he blinks, and they’re normal again.
“Don’t touch me,” he says.
“You’re going into shock.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re dying.”
His mouth curves without humor. “That’s what the contract is for.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means your life is tied to mine.”
“I know that part.”
“Then stop asking.”
“You’re not dying before you explain the rules.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You dragged me onto a nightmare train.”
“You followed me.”
“You threatened me with magical murder.”
“The contract threatened you.”
“You’re the one who signed it.”
“So did you.”
His voice cracks on the last word.
I see the blood soaking through his fingers again. I see the way he’s trying not to lean against me.
“Hold still,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to help you.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
He catches my wrist before I can reach his shirt. His palm is hot. His grip is weak, but the contact sends a jolt through my arm.
His pupils widen.
“Don’t,” he whispers.
“Let go.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Neither do you.”
The pain in his chest hits me through his hand. Burning. Tearing. Every nerve screaming at once.
I move before I can think.
I grab his face with both hands and kiss him.
It isn’t romantic. It’s desperate and reckless and probably the stupidest medical decision I’ve ever made.
The contract surges between us.
His pain crashes into my chest. Beneath it, I feel hunger, fear, and a sharp pull that makes my breath catch. I break away, gasping.
Silas stares at me.
The blood on his lips is gone.
The wound beneath his shirt has stopped bleeding.
“What the hell was that?” I demand.
His fingers touch his mouth. “You healed me.”
“How?”
“The contract.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Physical contact accelerates the bond.”
“Physical contact?”
“Especially when the bond is trying to stabilize.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You suspected I could heal you and didn’t tell me?”
“Would you have done it if I had?”
“I might’ve charged you.”
“You’re already charging me.”
“For what?”
“For keeping me alive.”
I shove his shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”
He catches my hand again, but this time he lets go quickly. His thumb leaves a hot mark against my skin.
Across the car, the scarred hunter’s hand settles on the blade at his belt.
“Interesting,” he says.
I turn on him. “Mind your business.”
“It became my business when the heir’s wound closed.”
Silas’s voice turns cold. “Kael.”
So that’s his name.
Kael doesn’t blink. “The Council needs to know.”
“You’ll report nothing.”
“I’ll report exactly what I saw.”
“Try it.”
The passengers stay motionless, but one of them lifts his head a fraction.
I lower my voice. “What did I just do?”
Silas looks at me instead of answering. “You crossed a line.”
“You kissed me first?”
His stare drops to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes.
“No.”
“Then don’t act like I’m the dangerous one.”
The train begins to slow.
Kael straightens. “We’re here.”
The pressure inside the car changes. My ears pop. Something vast opens beyond the walls.
The train stops.
The doors hiss apart.
Warm gold light pours inside.
Kael steps out first. The other hunters follow. Silas rises carefully, and I catch his arm before he can pretend he doesn’t need help.
His muscles tense beneath my fingers.
“I can walk,” he says.
“Then walk.”
He doesn’t pull away.
I step off the train.
And stop.
A city fills the cavern beyond the platform. Stone buildings climb into darkness, their windows glowing gold. Crowds move along a wide avenue in clothes I can’t place—too old to be modern, too strange to belong to any history book.
Every face turns toward us.
Toward me.
Then the entire street drops to its knees.
No warning. No command.
Hundreds of people bow their heads as if I’m wearing a crown.
My fingers tighten around Silas’s arm. “What the hell is happening?”
He stares at the kneeling crowd. All the color drains from his face.
“They can see it,” he says.
“See what?”
His eyes meet mine.
For the first time since he appeared in my apartment, Silas looks afraid.
“Your blood,” he says. “You’re not just human, Ivy. You’re a vessel. A royal bloodline.”
I look at the hundreds of bowed heads. “Then why are they kneeling to me?”