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“I’ll open it,” I say slowly, voice low like a warning, “if you answer one question.”

He arches a brow, entertained. “And what would that be?”

“What did they do? Why does the king want them dead?”

He laughs, the same ugly, smug, twisted laugh that used to haunt my sleep. And still does. It dies on his lips, fading to a smile I’ll never forget. “I think,” he says, leaning close. “You’ll know exactly what they did… once you see the name.”

I break eye contact. My hand drifts to my pocket, fingers brushing the blood mark, feeling the magic hum off of it, like it might burn me. I pull it free, running my thumb over my name on the front inked in royal blue, the wax seal bearing the crest of Coral Haven. How did I not notice this before? It wasn’t there earlier—almost as if it had been glamoured. Clever magic. The king must have placed some kind of spell on it.

When I look up, Silas is gone. Vanished into the shadows like he was never there in the first place. But I know better. He’s watching and waiting. He’s too curious to see if I’ll open it. Once I do, the clock will start ticking.

I slide a crimson nail beneath the wax seal, wicked sharp for slicing throats and secrets. The wax splits with a soft crack. The crest of Coral Haven glints in the moonlight. I wonder if Silas is in league with them now, which ruins everything I’m working toward.

I unfold the blood mark slowly, feeling the dark magic seep into me, my pulse drumming in my ears. Scrawled across the front in elegant blue ink is a single line:

It’s nice to finally meet you, Neressa.

Shit. This can’t be good.

I unfold the paper. And there it is.

Maddoc Brine.

Inked in blood-red script, like it took no effort at all to damn him. My jaw slackens. My heart forgets how to beat. He didn’t cover his tracks.

And Silas is right. I know exactly what he’s guilty of. He may not have broken my law, but he broke the king’s. In the eyes of Coral Haven, Vespera, and the slayers, that makes this a valid job. This is why slayers are hired.

The moment I see his name, I understand. There’s no way out of this. No escape route. No favor I can call in. No bargain I can strike. If I don’t do it, Silas will, or he’ll send someone else. Someone without mercy who won’t let him die clean, painless. Not to mention the dark magic binding me to the blood mark. Fuck.

It has to be me.

The king already has him. Right now, he’s sailing back to that cursed land. The king has been feeding me poisoned intel through him. Smiling. Lying. Thinking I’ll never find out. And now I have to decide how this story ends. How his story ends. My Maddoc.

But I know Silas is watching, lurking just beyond the reach of moonlight and reveling in the quiet ruin unraveling behind my eyes. He sees the hesitation and heartbreak. The impossible decision bleeding its way into my bones. He wants me to break, but I won’t. Not in front of him or anyone else.

Maddoc Brine will have to die by my hand. I’ll make it quick and clean. He won’t see it coming. Maybe that’s the last mercy I can give him in this godsforsaken life.

Because now, whether I like it or not, I’m in league with my two worst enemies, the king of Vespera and Silas.

I look up at The Siren. Mira stands right where I found her, watching. Her silhouette is stark against the white sails behind her, her emerald eyes catching the moonlight like jewels set in shadow. I give her a nod. A promise—I’ll see you next time. Stay safe. She returns it, a subtle tilt of her chin, staying where she knows she’s safest, on the ship born of old magic.

I turn away, the blood mark burning hot against my palm, and walk straight into the job that will cost me everything.

Chapter six

Weakness

I walk through the streets of Magda, loud and alive as ever, the scent of rum and smoke thick in the air. Drunken laughter spills from alleyways. A distant clash of steel rings out like a bell. Boots beat a steady rhythm on cobblestone. Magda never sleeps. She just shifts her weight from one devilish hip to the other. But I move through her like a ghost, unseen in the shadows. The hood of my cloak hiding my face.

There’s always something happening here. And the ones I feel the worst for are the bartenders. Poor souls. They stand behind warped wooden counters from dusk until dawn, sleeves rolled, shoulders bruised, hands raw from polishing tankards that will be hurled across the room within the hour. Bottles break over their heads. Coins are thrown, not handed. Promises of “I’ll pay you next time” are offered with crooked grins and bloodshot eyes.

Drunken pirates swear loyalty they won’t remember in the morning. Tabs grow longer than ship manifests. And still, the bartenders show up the next night. Because in Magda, you either learn to survive the chaos or you become part of it.

I don’t go back to Nyra or check on Zorren. Not yet. Right now, I’m exactly as Silas wants me to be. Powerless. A feeling I loathe more than anything. I need to be alone with my thoughts.

So instead, I go to a small house tucked between the edge of town and the first rise of the mountains. Secluded, but close enough to hear the whispers of what the streets are saying. This little place is where I escape to when I need to get out of the chaos. The Underground is safe for me to sleep in, but sometimes I need the feel of fresh air and the sound of waves to lull me into a deep sleep. Even as a slayer, as strong as I am, it all weighs on me. The silence, scars, choices, the look of life leaving someone’s eyes.

The door creaks as I open it, and I’m met with stale air. I don’t come here often. This place is bare. Just a bed, a dresser, a couch, a mirror, and a couple of windows. No decor or distractions. Just somewhere I can sit in stillness and stare at nothing, feel nothing. Completely numb.