THREE
RATHOK
The door splinters inward and I’m already moving.
My axes clear my belt before the first piece of wood hits the floor. I shove the woman behind me—Ivalys, her name is Ivalys, and I shouldn’t care—and face whatever’s coming through that doorway.
Two enforcers. Krev and Maloch. I know them both. I worked collections with Krev for three decades before he transferred to another district. Maloch is younger, hungry, the kind of orc who enjoys the work too much.
They’re here for the woman. For me, now that I’ve hesitated long enough for the Ledger Master to notice.
Krev’s bulk fills the ruined doorframe. His axes are already drawn, blades catching the dim light from the landing. Behind him, Maloch grins with too many teeth.
“Grimshaw.” Krev’s voice carries the weight of disappointment. “You know the protocol. The woman comes with us.”
“She has seven days.”
“The Ledger Master wants her now.” Maloch steps around Krev, positioning for a flank. Sloppy. Obvious. “Something about her… interests him.”
Behind me, Ivalys shifts. I feel her move closer rather than away, feel her warmth at my back, and something in my chest constricts.
She should be running. Any sane person would be running.
Instead, she’s positioning herself to watch both doorway and window, cataloging exits the way I cataloged them when I first entered. Smart. Dangerous.
Interesting.
“The contract terms are clear.” I keep my voice flat. Emotionless. The mask I’ve worn since before Maloch was born. “Seven days to settlement. The Ledger wrote it itself.”
Krev’s brow furrows. He didn’t know that. The information changes something in his stance—uncertainty where there was none.
Maloch doesn’t care. Maloch never cares about anything except the hunt.
“Orders are orders, Grimshaw.” He takes another step. “Give us the woman, and maybe the Ledger Master forgets you hesitated. Maybe he doesn’t ask why you broke protocol for some bookshop clerk.”
Bookshop clerk.
The words don’t fit. Nothing about this woman fits the profile of a bookshop clerk, of a debtor’s sister, of anything small and ordinary. The way she faced me when I walked through that door—not afraid, not begging, just calculating. The way the Ledger itself changed its terms for her.
She’s not ordinary. The Ledger Master knows it. I’m starting to understand it.
And I’m not handing her over.
“She stays with me.” The words come out before I decide to speak them. “Seven days. The Ledger’s own terms.”
Maloch laughs. The sound grates against my skull. He’s young enough to think numbers matter, to believe two against one is a guaranteed victory. He’s never seen me work.
“You’re choosing a human over centuries of service?” His grin widens. “Over the Ledger Master himself?”
I don’t answer. Answers are for people who need to justify themselves.
Maloch takes my silence as weakness. He lunges.
I let him come. Let him commit to the strike, watch his weight shift forward, read the angle of his axes and the exposed line of his throat. A lifetime of collections has taught me patience. Has taught me exactly how much rope to give before I pull.
His right axe swings for my head. I step inside the arc, too close for the blade to bite, and drive my elbow into his throat. Cartilage crunches. He staggers, choking, and I bring my knee up into his gut hard enough to lift him off his feet.
He hits the floor. Doesn’t get up.
