The city didn't sleep that night.Neither did Jace.
The streetlights outside his crumbling apartment buzzed and flickered, throwing long, broken shadows across the peeling walls. Sirens howled somewhere distant. The smell of smoke drifted in through the cracked window.
He sat alone at the rickety kitchen table, shirtless, his hands raw and bleeding, knuckles swollen and cracked. Every time he blinked, he saw her face.
Reya.
The moment her life slipped between his fingers replayed over and over, a jagged film he couldn't turn off.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Breathed deep.
The shard inside his chest thrummed — low, restless, hungry.
There was a cost to what he had done.There was always a cost.
And the city had just decided it was time to collect.
A knock rattled the door. Sharp. Impatient.
He didn't move at first.
Another knock, louder.
Jace shoved himself up, muscles aching, and crossed the room. He pressed his shoulder to the door, listening.
Breath on the other side.
Two heartbeats.
One fast, nervous.
One slow. Deliberate.
He slid his knife from the counter without a sound.
"Who is it?" he called roughly.
A low, female voice answered — rich, smoky, dangerous.
"Someone who likes living. Open up."
Jace hesitated, then cracked the door.
A woman leaned against the frame, arms crossed.
Tall, dark-skinned, her hair in a crown of tight curls. A leather jacket hugged her body, zipped down just enough to hint at the soft curve of her cleavage. Tight black jeans clung to her hips like sin itself. Her eyes, though — they were what caught him.
Gold.
Predatory.
Like a panther sizing up prey.
She smiled, slow and wicked.
"You gonna invite me in, sweetheart?"
Jace narrowed his eyes.
"Depends. You here to kill me?"
"Not tonight."She winked. "Unless you get on my nerves."
He snorted despite himself and opened the door wider.
She sauntered inside like she owned the place, hips swaying just enough to make it impossible not to notice.
The second figure slipped in after her — younger, wiry, jittery. Looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Probably hadn't.
"You're Jace Vale," the woman said, circling him slowly, like a shark. "The one who cracked open the Hollow's altar."
"And you are?"
"Zariah."She grinned, flashing teeth just a little too sharp. "Talent broker. Middleman. Sometimes executioner."
The wiry guy piped up nervously. "Word's out, man. Bleeding Eye put a price on your head."
"How much?" Jace asked, voice flat.
"Enough to make friends stab you in the back without blinking."
Zariah chuckled.
"City's divided now. Some wanna recruit you. Others wanna carve you up and sell the pieces."
Jace shrugged.
"Let 'em try."
Zariah laughed — a throaty, delicious sound.
"Damn. I like you already."
She leaned in closer, voice dropping to a purr.
"You're raw. Half-broken. Dangerous."
Her perfume was intoxicating — smoke and something darker underneath.
He held her gaze, refusing to flinch.
"If you're trying to seduce me," he said, "you're about twenty-four hours too late."
Her smile widened.
"Who said I was trying?"She brushed past him, her leather jacket grazing his bare chest deliberately. "Besides, if we're gonna work together, might as well enjoy the view."
Jace frowned.
"Work together?"
Zariah turned, perching on the edge of his table.
"The Bleeding Eye won't come alone next time. They'll send Harvesters."She said the word like a curse."You think tonight was bad? That was a love tap."
The wiry kid nodded frantically.
"Harvesters strip your soul clean, man. One touch — you're gone. Nothing left but a meat puppet."
"And you're offering what, exactly?" Jace asked.
"Protection. Information. Maybe even a little payback."
Zariah slid a small, bloody coin across the table. It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat trapped in gold.
"This buys you an audience with the Red Market."
Jace tensed.
The Red Market.The city's underground. Cultivators, smugglers, black-market soul dealers.Not a place for the weak.
Zariah saw the hesitation in his eyes and leaned in again, close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck.
"You wanna survive, sweetheart? You're gonna have to stop thinking like prey."
Her hand slid down his chest lightly — testing, teasing — then dropped away before he could react.
"Think about it," she said, standing. "You've got twenty-four hours. After that?"
She smiled, slow and sharp.
"They'll come to collect."
She sauntered toward the door, hips swinging lazily.
The wiry kid shot Jace a quick, terrified look and scurried after her.
The door slammed behind them, leaving Jace alone again.
He stared down at the bloody coin.
The shard in his chest throbbed once — heavy, expectant.
He closed his fingers around the coin.
Outside, the city howled.