Nat kept his breathing shallow as he laid in bed and stared at the wall. That kid had come out of nowhere, blindsided them, and put up a hell of a fight before escaping. It was going to cost a fortune to heal him up, and Dant was in even worse shape. There was no way a rank 2 could do something like that, and then somehow manage to get away. Worse, Nemari had escaped in the chaos.

  That stupid girl was going to get her whole family killed, all because she’d taken up with the wrong stranger and then had the gall to choose him over the people who’d raised her. The audacity of that girl was astounding, to think she could make such a thoughtless choice.

  Nat’s thoughts chased each other in circles, a side effect of the medicine they’d given him to numb the pain of his injuries until a strong healer could be summoned. He realized once again that he’d fallen into a mental rut and stopped thinking of solutions in favor of endlessly gnawing at the same complaints.

  The door opened, jarring him from his thoughts. “Finally,” he groused. “Took you long—”

  Nat choked on the words before they could finish spilling out of his mouth. Standing in the door frame was a tall, thin man cloaked in black. The hood was pulled low, hiding everything but a sliver of skin and a dark, sharp goatee. The man stepped into the room and silently pushed the door closed behind him before gliding across the floor to stop at Nat’s bedside.

  “I believe,” he said softly, “that I had an appointment to speak to your niece.”

  “Samael,” Nat gasped out. Oh shit. Oh shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

  “This is the part where you make excuses, and I decide if they are good enough to spare your life, Nathaniel.”

  A slender hand with long, graceful fingers shot out of the cloak and grabbed onto Nat’s skull. He sensed the barest twist of anima spike into his brain, then pain flooded in. Every bruise, break, and sprain hit him all at once as Samael burned out the painkilling drugs that had addled Nat’s mind, and he cried out sharply before biting down on the sound. An abrupt sheen of sweat coated his body—some sort of side effect of whatever spell Samael had just used.

  It wasn’t good to show weakness in front of predators, and the Black Hellion was near the top of Floor 0’s food chain. Nobody even knew what rank the man was. He appeared as no more than a rank 12 or 13, but he had far too many soulprints for that to be possible. Speculation had been making rounds through the underworld for years, and if even half the abilities attributed to Samael were real, he had to be at least rank 20.

  No one knew how he did that, either. Not once had anyone ever been able to produce whatever soulprint that was that allowed him to so completely suppress his soulspace’s presence. But Nat had been an active climber back when Samael had first appeared over a decade ago, and he remembered quite clearly how many people had gotten themselves killed underestimating the Black Hellion.

  The pain didn’t fade—if anything, it got stronger as more of the drugs were flushed out of him through his sweat—but Nat’s brain fully engaged with the dangerous reality of his situation, and it was already dissecting the problem.

  Samael hadn’t been joking about killing him. The only thing that could possibly spare Nat’s life now was providing a good enough reason to be allowed to keep breathing. And to do that, he needed to give Samael what he wanted, which was information about the stranger.

  The stranger… Could it be the same man? Someone like Samael, perhaps?

  That could explain how someone who felt like a rank 2 had damn near overpowered a rank 7 who specialized in physical enhancement soulprints in a grapple. Nat didn’t have proof, but he was in a desperate situation. It was time to take a gamble.

  “We were bringing her to you,” Nat said, surprising himself at how firm his voice held. No need to let him know I’m about to shit my pants over here. “And then we were ambushed. I can’t say for sure, but I think it was the guy you’re looking for.”

  Samael might have been a statue for all the reaction he gave. He just stood there, his fingers still pressed against Nat’s head, nails digging into his scalp, and waited. Resisting the urge to squirm, Nat laid out his reasoning. “Nemari knew him. I’m sure of that. He risked his life attacking us. Felt like a rank 2, and he didn’t hesitate to jump three climbers all higher ranked than him.”

  “And win, by the looks of it,” Samael murmured.

  “We got our licks in,” Nat said. “But… Yeah, best I can say is it was a draw, and that’s victory enough for someone reaching so far over his head.”

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  “Tell me something new, Nathaniel.”

  “We’re sure Nemari fled through the portal, probably to Floor 2. I’ve got people looking for her at both hubs, but she had a headstart. I’ve also got a few boys watching the portal. The guy who attacked us hasn’t gone through it.”

  “But you cannot find him, either,” Samael said smoothly.

  “No,” Nat admitted with a grimace. He’d recognized that it wasn’t a question so much as a condemnation.

  “Your son was the last to see him, in the alleys near the southeast district.”

  Another statement. Things were spiraling, and Nat wasn’t sure how to salvage the situation. Samael’s fingers were still digging into his skin, a constant reminder that his life was hanging by a thin thread.

  “Yes.”

  “And where is your son now?”

  “Waiting for a healer. The attacker ran him through with a sword and left him to bleed out in the alley. We barely stabilized him in time.”

  “I did not ask about his condition,” Samael said.

  “R-right. Sorry. He’s down the hall, two rooms.” Oh God, please don’t let him kill my boy. Just take me instead, and let this demon in human skin be satisfied with that.

  Samael turned to walk away, only to pause when Nat lunged out and grabbed him by the wrist. “What are you going to do to my son?”

  “Release me, Nathaniel,” Samael told him.

  “Answer me, damn you! We’ve done everything you wanted, given you everything. What more can you take?”

  His world went white with pain, and Nat started screaming as blood fountained from his stump of a wrist where his hand used to be. The hand itself laid on the floor, more blood dribbling out to stain the wood. Samael stared down at him, his cold eyes barely visible beneath the hood of his cloak.

  “Your son will be healed, and then he will show my men where he lost track of the stranger. Congratulations. It looks like you get to live after all.”

  There was a flash of light, and the pain in Nat’s wrist subsided to a dull throb. What? Healing magic? How?

  Nat stared at the stump, now grown-over with new skin. He’d had no idea Samael had the ability to heal injuries, too. And it wasn’t a weak soulprint, either. To seal off an injury like that in moments meant at least a D-ranked ability, especially from a climber who couldn’t possibly be specialized with supporting soulprints. It might even be C.

  Samael swept back out of the room so quickly and silently that Nat didn’t even notice until the door closed again. Crying out in panic, he staggered out of bed. That was when he realized that Samael had healed only the hand he’d cut off, and that Nat still very much needed to stay still until a healer arrived who’d work on the rest of him.

  Nat ignored that, instead crawling on his elbows and knees. He fumbled the door open and made his way down the hall, to his son’s room. Samael was already there, of course. With one single finger pointed at Dant, he was channeling anima into some sort of spell.

  “Hey, didn’t you hear me! I said to get the hell out of my room, you creep,” Dant yelled.

  No, don’t anger him! Nat silently pleaded. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Dant arched off the bed. A corona of green and white lights swirled around him, healing his injuries so fast that bursts of steam rose from his body. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, either, judging by the pained grimace on the boy’s face.

  The spell ended, allowing Dant to slump back down to the bed. “What… was that?” he croaked out.

  “I require your services,” Samael said. “You have five minutes to dress yourself. Then you will guide some of my men to the place you fell in battle.”

  Dant looked past Samael to see Nat hobbling across the floor on his hands and knees. “Dad?” he asked, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the stump of Nat’s right hand. “What happened to you?”

  “Just do what he wants, son,” Nat said. “It’s the only way we’re going to survive this.”

  For all his faults, Dant wasn’t stupid. He was young and brash, the same as Nat had been that age, but he was quick, too. He wouldn’t have made it all the way to rank 4 otherwise. It didn’t take him long to put the pieces together. “Samael?” he asked.

  The hood of the cloak twitched slightly.

  “Fuuuuuuuck,” Dant hissed out. He looked down at Nat again, who was now sitting on the floor with two missing limbs and covered in his own blood. “Okay, yeah. I’ll just get dressed.”

  Dant left with two men Nat didn’t recognize, but that was hardly surprising. He knew very few people in the Black Hellions, and he preferred to keep it that way. Samael spared the patriarch of the Sildfall family a single glance, then swept out of the room.

  Part of Nat wanted to relax now that the evil specter was gone, but he knew that was just his body’s reaction to the physical removal of the source of danger. He wasn’t safe by any means, and there was no guarantee he’d ever see his son again.

  A pair of servants arrived shortly after to help Nat back to his own room and into his bed. They got more meds for him, and soon enough, Nat was staring at the ceiling while he resumed waiting. Waiting, he scoffed. All I’m good for now. Waiting for the healer. Waiting to see if my boy’s still alive. And then what? Ten years of saving, trying to buy my leg back. Now I’m down a hand, too? What the hell am I supposed to do with the rest of my life, become a damn alchemist or something?

  Tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks, following deep wrinkles carved into his face. Nat was old now, and he’d done his best to help his family prosper. For years, he’d thought he’d done a good job. One single mistake had been all it took to undo it, and it wasn’t even his mistake.

  Samael was personally visiting the compound, tearing it apart in search of what he wanted and uncaring of the damage he did. The Sildfalls might recover someday, but it wouldn’t be with Nat at the head. It might not even be with Nat still alive.

  A small, bitter part of him hated Nemari for that. He knew that she’d had no idea who this Sorin person was when she’d met him, that she couldn’t have known Samael of all people would want him, but she’d still brought the Black Hellion himself down on them all.

  Sorin was a dead man who just didn’t know it yet, and as much as Nat wanted to deny that part of himself, there was a kernel of satisfaction in knowing that Nemari would almost certainly die with the stranger. If anyone deserved it, it was her.