When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the urn sealed in a glass case—and Tuesday’s face.

  “Darling, you’ve been asleep for forty hours. That’s a new personal record,” Tuesday said, holding a glass of water to my lips. “You’re in a hospital run by the Ainsworth clade. Since your condition was stable, they didn’t give you any additional medication—just glucose and saline.”

  I wasn’t supposed to accept food or drinks from strangers. But Tuesday wasn’t a stranger. I downed the entire glass in one breath, only then feeling like my throat wasn’t lined with hot charcoal anymore. “Why are you here? Where’s Rafe?”

  “You caused quite a stir on that plane—someone had to handle the aftermath. Don’t move. The investigation made it very clear it wasn’t your fault. You’re not in trouble. Hunters aren’t that dumb,” Tuesday said, letting me sit up despite my guarded look, and even handed me my phone. “Darling, there’s something I don’t want you to hear from anyone else. I’m not Rafe’s friend. I’m yours... Or in Hunter terms—your Hollowing.”

  What?

  My barely awakened brain couldn’t process so much at once. It was only then that I noticed I was lying in a clean single-patient room, surrounded by several machines I didn’t recognize.

  Tuesday unbuttoned her shirt, her words tumbling out faster and faster. “You’re not like the other Hunters. For them, Hollowing marks the end of their time—as Hunters, as people. But for you, it’s the opposite. Your Skill is far stronger than theirs. Even when you push it to the limit, all it costs you is a nap. Do you really think Hollowing is something so mild for everyone? Do you think every Hunter who reaches the edge comes back sane?”

  Below her collarbones, her body was made of glowing, fluid colors—bone structure traced in violet-grey, and a translucent pale pink flowing in the shape of a heart. Tuesday reached into the gap at her collarbone and, between two fingers, drew out… a dip pen?

  “Rafe, the other Hunters, this entire world—they’ll all tell you the same thing: that Hollowing causes Hunters to slowly give birth to Residents, and then vanish into Nowhere. But you’re not ‘just another Hunter.’ Your birth was one of Nowhere’s greatest and most successful plans.” Tuesday slid the dip pen, drawn from her own heart, under my pillow and leaned in suddenly. “I can prove it to you—every Hunter will tell you Residents can’t freely cross in and out of Nowhere. That they have no access to the Path.”

  She kissed me—soft as flowing water, gone in a breath.

  The door burst open with a loud clang. I instinctively turned my head. It was Rafe.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d learned a secret that could change my life—only to realize I couldn’t let anyone else find out. The confused expression on my face fit the moment perfectly, so there was no need to fake it.

  “You’re awake. I thought… well, of course you’d be fine.”

  Rafe crossed the room in a few quick strides to where Tuesday had just been. He placed two fingers gently on my wrist.

  “Your test results are excellent—almost too excellent. How do you feel? Anything strange? Too light, too unreal? I mean anything—”

  “Relax, I feel fine. Just really thirsty and starving.”

  I nodded toward the glass case. “And… what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You neutralized the rogue Collection. It’s yours now.”

  Rafe gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, just like he had on the plane. “We’ve run tests. It’s in a dormant state. But just to be safe, I had it sealed in vacuum containment. What happened on the plane won’t happen in that case.”

  I gave a slight nod, about to respond, when I caught a faint, narrow shadow shifting near the door.

  “That big deal you mentioned—is it still on the table? I didn’t take that damn flight for nothing, did I?”

  I did my best to sound greedy, eager—just the thought of trading that money for a life with Tuesday and Otto was enough to make my heart race.

  “Where am I now? Is this Ainsworth Clade?”

  “Yes. You’re completely safe. And this”—Rafe gestured slightly toward the door behind him—“is your payment from Ainsworth Clade. Thirty-four million U.S. dollars.”

  Rafe lifted a finger slightly to his right rear—toward the door. I followed his gaze, blinked, and he gave me a subtle nod. The whole exchange happened almost simultaneously, without interrupting our conversation.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He opened a folder and, in a tone that could’ve sold dreams, began outlining Ainsworth Clade’s offer—especially the part that was supposedly mine.

  Goddamn Ainsworth. They were treating me like a fool, fully convinced that Rafe wouldn’t let me live long enough to touch that so-called “payment.” Even though Hoffman’s memories had faded into nothing more than a strong gut feeling, that was enough to tell me: this deal reeked of fraud.

  It was a 26.46-carat pink diamond, internally flawless, set in platinum with shield-cut colorless side stones. Valued at thirty-four million dollars—if only it hadn’t been pulled from a defunct Collection. No GIA certification. No legal provenance. Just a ghost asset.

  We’ve all seen those movies where a group of protagonists braves danger to unearth vast treasure from some ancient ruin, and each of them walks off into a life-changing ending. But after the credits roll, if you actually look into it, you’ll realize that for ordinary people, safely cashing in on such a windfall is just as impossible as acquiring it in the first place.

  Precious metals, maybe. But a single high-value gemstone like this? There's no way to liquidate it through any legitimate channel.

  The biggest difference between natural gemstones and precious metals lies in their uniqueness—they are individual assets that cannot be handled anonymously. Metals like gold can be melted down, alloyed, and recast; as long as the weight matches the standard, any bar of gold can circulate freely in the market. But each high-value fancy-colored diamond is utterly one-of-a-kind. Any attempt to recut or regrind it would severely diminish its value, and it still wouldn’t erase its identifying features.

  These stones often carry internal structures—“fingerprints”—that are logged in international gemological databases, such as GIA. In other words, they come with built-in ID. Unlike gold, they can’t be sold off piece by piece without raising red flags.

  Worse, if a large-carat, uncertified gemstone with no history shows up on the market, legitimate jewelers, auction houses, and even banks will be on high alert and immediately flag it for investigation. Prestigious auction houses like Sotheby’s or Christie’s are bound by international anti-money laundering laws. If they detect an unclear origin, even a stone valued in the tens of millions won’t be accepted for consignment—instead, they might help law enforcement trace the owner’s identity and background. God knows what the world’s top experts could dig up about me.

  As for the black market…

  The first thing that came to mind was the mental image of my corpse encased in concrete and dumped into the ocean—because I honestly couldn’t imagine what someone might do for thirty-four million dollars.

  Paying me with this kind of unlaundered asset—this wasn’t just a half-assed way to brush off a rookie hunter. It was treating me like some idiot with zero understanding of how the world works.

  “Oh my God, oh my God!” I let out a little shriek and slapped a hand over my mouth as the flimsy paper slipped off my lap and onto the blanket. “Can I see it? Please—just let me look at it, I promise I won’t touch—I've never seen something so—so—”

  “Aaaahhhh—!”

  Hands trembling, I clutched the document and the transparent box holding the urn to my chest and planted two loud kisses on Rafe’s cheek. “Thank you! You’ve changed my life! I love you! I’ll do anything you ask—anything, I swear I will!”

  The faint silhouette cast by the surgical lamp disappeared, but I was still too giddy to sit still. I bounced right out of bed, jumping up and down with excitement—and in one sweeping motion, grabbed the pen I’d tucked under the pillow earlier.

  The moment it touched my left palm, it turned into a pool of cool liquid, painlessly seeping into my skin. While I wrapped my arms around Rafe’s neck and said we should go have a celebratory drink, I stole a glance—it had formed into a symbol so intricate it almost looked like a single crimson dot.

  The Collection called Eternity, the kiss of a silhouette, Tuesday’s pen—

  My left hand was really working overtime.