The intercom is still purring Bastian Crowe's bedtime story when I reach the staff corridor.
Sleep well. The world is already bidding on your screams.
I mouth the words back at the speaker, slow and obscene. Then I rip the nearest fire alarm off the wall and smash it with my fist until the voice dies in static.
Red emergency strobes kick in. The hallway becomes a slaughterhouse heartbeat.
Good. Red is honest.
I have maybe four minutes before the guards figure out the alarm is fake. Four minutes to do what I came back here for.
147's file room.
Every corpse gets a folder. Every folder gets burned after the auction closes. Tonight the auction hasn't closed yet.
I shoulder through the side door. The air in here is colder, wet paper and old blood. Rows of filing cabinets line the walls like metal coffins.
I know exactly where he is. Third drawer from the bottom, left side. I've memorized the system because some nights I come here just to read the names I couldn't save.
The drawer screams when I yank it open.
Inside: one thin manila folder labeled SUBJECT 147 – IRONFANG, ELIAS.
I flip it open with fingers that refuse to shake.
Photograph first. Elias had kind eyes. The sort that look sorry even when they're the ones bleeding out.
I hate kind eyes. They lie the worst.
Under the photo, the purchase receipt:
MATE BOND SEVERANCE AUTHORIZED BY VIEWER_666_KINGSLAYER EXECUTION METHOD: REMOTE SILVER OVERLOAD VIEWER TIPS FOR FINAL SCREAM: $2.3M EXECUTIONER BONUS PAID TO: HUNTER KADE MERCER
The paper crumples in my fist.
Kade Mercer. Number one on the leaderboard. The wolf who never misses a kill.
I've never seen his face, only the silhouette they plaster on every billboard: black tactical gear, silver claws, cracked crown tattoo glowing on his chest.
Now I have a reason to memorize the rest.
I stuff the receipt into my bra (closest thing I have to body armor) and keep flipping.
Last page. Handwritten note in Dr. Mara Voss's neat script, dated three months ago:
Subject 147 asked me to tell the janitor girl with the burn scar: "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. Tell her the moon is lying. Tell her she's not defective. Tell her the next time the fire turns blue, say yes."
My lungs forget how to work.
Elias knew. He knew before I did.
I press my forehead to the cold metal drawer. The strobes paint everything bloody, then black, bloody, then black.
I want to scream. I want to curl up inside this drawer and let the furnace take me with him.
Instead I do what Mara taught me when the shocks got too loud: I count heartbeats until the feeling shrinks small enough to fit in my fist.
One. Two. Three.
On four, I close the drawer. On five, I steal Elias's access badge from the folder (still warm from the furnace heat).
On six, I walk out smiling.
Because grief is a collar too. And I just learned how to pick locks.
The corridor is filling with shouting guards now, drawn by the alarm. I slip past them in the strobing red, just another shadow in a jumpsuit.
My reflection flashes in every window: burn scar glowing like a brand, left eye spinning with broken moonlight.
I look like the devil's admin.
Good.
I have a hunter to find.
The elevator to the surface is locked down during red alert, but the service shaft is open. I climb twenty-three floors with Elias's badge clenched between my teeth and the taste of someone else's apology on my tongue.
When I reach topside, the night sky is waiting.
The moon hangs overhead, fractured into a thousand bleeding pieces.
I stare up at it and mouth the words Elias died to give me.
"I'm listening."
Every shard flickers at once.
New text burns across my vision, brighter than the strobes ever were:
LIVE AUCTION PREVIEW – LOT 282 CURRENT HIGH BID: $42,000,000 LEAD BIDDER: VIEWER_666_KINGSLAYER EXECUTIONER ASSIGNED: HUNTER KADE MERCER
I laugh so hard the collar burns a fresh ring around my throat.
Of course. Of course the man who murdered Elias gets to open me up on camera too.
I taste blood and smile wider.
Somewhere in this facility, Kade Mercer is cleaning silver claws and counting money that still smells like Elias's scream.
I hope he's enjoying his last night as the apex predator.
Because tomorrow the bidding starts.
And I just became the house.
My wrist tablet pings (janitor override frequency).
New work order, priority crimson:
CLEAN UP REQUIRED – OBSERVATION DECK HUNTER MERCER REQUESTS ASSISTANCE WITH "DAMAGED EQUIPMENT"
I lick the blood off my lip.
On my way, your majesty.
Let the hunt begin.