The Underbelly smelled of wet pavement and copper. Clara Vale pulled her collar up against the biting wind. The rain here did not fall. It clung to the skin like oil. Above her the Zenith Tower pierced the clouds. It was a needle of light in a world of grey. It was the home of Vane Vesper. He was the man who owned the air she breathed.
She reached the service entrance. Her fingers trembled as she slid the stolen keycard into the slot. The light turned green. This was the moment of no return. Her father owed the Vesper collectors fifty thousand credits. In the Underbelly that was a death sentence. To Vane Vesper it was a rounding error.
The interior of the tower was silent. It was too clean. The air was filtered and tasteless. Clara moved like a shadow. She knew the patrol routes of the drones. She avoided the main halls. Her goal was the server room on the eighty eighth floor. She needed to delete the debt record.
She stepped into the service elevator. The buttons were touch-sensitive glass. She pressed eighty eight. Nothing happened. The lift stayed still. Then the floor lurched. The display did not show numbers. It showed symbols. Ancient runes etched in light. The elevator dropped.
Clara gripped the handrail. Her stomach flipped. This was not the way to the executive suites. The lift stopped with a heavy thud. The doors slid open to reveal a world of stone.
This was the Iron Vault.
The temperature dropped twenty degrees. The walls were rough-hewn rock. The ceiling was supported by pillars of black iron. There were no lights. Only the soft glow of a single candle on a central altar. The room smelled of burning sage and old blood.
Clara stepped out. Her boots clicked on the stone. She should have turned back. Every instinct screamed at her to run. But the book on the altar pulled her forward. It was huge. The cover was a deep. mottled brown. It looked like leather but felt like warmth. It felt like skin.
She reached the altar. The book was open. The pages were vellum. The ink was a dark. crusty red. She scanned the names. She saw CEOs. She saw politicians. She saw the men who ran the world. Beside each name was a price.
Marcus Thorne. 1890. The lung of a child.
Julian Vesper. 1924. The heart of a rival.
Clara flipped the pages. Her breath hitched. The dates moved closer to the present. The wealth of the city was not earned. It was bought. It was a ledger of murder. She reached the final page. The ink was still wet.
Clara Vale. 2026. The Final Key.
"You were not supposed to find that."
The voice was like silk over a blade. Clara spun around. Vane Vesper stood in the shadows. He was taller than the magazines showed. His suit was worth more than her life. His face was perfect. Not a single line of age or worry. His eyes were not human. They were flecked with gold that pulsed in the candlelight.
"I was just looking for the server," Clara whispered. Her voice cracked.
Vane stepped into the light. He did not look angry. He looked tired. "There are no servers here. Only the truth. And the truth is hungry."
He moved toward her. He did not walk. He glided. He stopped inches away. Clara could feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled of expensive cologne and the grave.
"My father is Silas," Vane said. He reached out a hand. He did not touch her. He traced the air near her cheek. "He has been waiting for you. The Underbelly is his garden. He plants the seeds. He waits for the harvest."
"I am not a crop," Clara snapped. She tried to move past him.
Vane gripped her arm. His fingers were like iron bands. He pulled her close. His gold eyes searched hers. He looked at the mark on her neck. It was a small birthmark she had hidden with makeup. In the vault it glowed a faint. sickly green.
"You are the harvest. Clara. You are the only thing that can keep this tower standing."
"Let me go. I'll leave the city. I won't tell anyone."
Vane leaned in. His lips brushed her ear. "The ledger has your name. It does not matter where you go. The shadows will find you. The debt must be settled."
He looked at the book. Then he looked at the girl. For a second the ice in his eyes flickered. He saw the terror in her face. He saw the life he was supposed to take.
"Security is coming," Vane said softly. "If they find you here. my father will kill you tonight. He is not a patient man."
"And you?" Clara asked. "Are you going to kill me?"
Vane let go of her arm. He looked at his own palms. They were clean. Too clean. "I have never killed a soul myself. I let the ritual do the work. It is cleaner that way."
The sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway. The elevator was returning.
"Follow me," Vane commanded.
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because I am the only monster who wants you alive. For now."
Vane grabbed the Ledger. He tucked it under his arm. He led her through a narrow crack in the stone wall. It was a passage built for an era of swords and torches. They climbed a spiral staircase that felt endless.
They emerged into the penthouse.
The change was jarring. The room was a palace of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass. The city lights twinkled below like fallen diamonds. It was beautiful. It was a lie.
Vane walked to a wet bar. He poured a glass of amber liquid. He did not offer her any. He stood by the window. He looked down at the Underbelly.
"You will stay here," he said. "The penthouse is a Faraday cage. No magic can enter. No ghosts can find you. You are safe until the moon reaches its peak."
Clara stood in the center of the room. She felt like a bird in a cage. "What happens at the peak?"
Vane turned. The gold in his eyes was fading. He looked almost human in the moonlight. "The moon turns red. The pact demands a sacrifice of pure blood. If I don't give it. I lose everything. My wealth. My youth. My life."
"Then kill me now," Clara said. She stepped toward him. "Why wait? Why play this game?"
Vane set the glass down. He walked toward her. He stopped when their chests almost touched. He was a foot taller. He looked down at her with a strange curiosity.
"Because for two hundred years. I have been alone," he whispered. "Everyone I knew is dead. Everyone I loved is a name in that book. You are the first person who looked at the ledger and didn't ask for a share of the gold."
"I don't want your money. Vane. I want my life."
"Then we have a problem," Vane said. He reached out and touched her hair. His hand was trembling. "Because for the first time in a century. I want something more than power."
The city below began to rumble. A low groan of shifting earth. The Zenith Tower vibrated. The debt was calling. The shadows were hungry.
Vane looked at the sky. A thin sliver of the moon was already turning a deep. bruised purple.
"The countdown begins. Clara Vale. Try not to make me love you."
He turned and walked toward his private suite. He locked the door behind him.
Clara ran to the glass. She pressed her hands against the cold surface. She looked down at the Underbelly. Her home was a dark smear in the distance. She was trapped in the clouds with a man who was both her savior and her executioner.
She looked at the desk. The Blood Ledger was sitting there. Unattended.
She walked over to it. She didn't look for her own name this time. She looked for his. She flipped to the very beginning. To the year 1812.
There it was.
Vane Vesper. The Price: Eternal Solitude.
Clara closed the book. The hunt had started.