The champagne glass hit Marcus square in the forehead, and for a second, he thought someone had shot him.Blood and Dom Pérignon dripped down his face. Around the private dining room, twelve people in designer clothes stared at him like he was dog shit.His mother-in-law Eleanor stood at the head of the table, arm still raised from the throw. Diamonds sparkled on her wrist."That's for being late, you worthless piece of garbage."Marcus tasted copper. His delivery uniform polyester red with grease stains looked like a clown costume next to all the Armani. He'd raced across downtown on his piece-of-shit scooter because Eleanor's text said be here by 7 sharp.It was 7:03."I'm sorry, Mrs. Wright. Traffic was""Shut your fucking mouth." Eleanor's smiled ear to ear. "Nobody wants to hear your excuses."Marcus's wife Elena sat at the far end beside some guy he'd never seen. Model looks. Expensive suit. His arm draped over Elena's chair.Elena wouldn't look at Marcus.Three years. Three god

Marcus followed Sarah through corridors he'd walked a thousand times as a kid except now they were rotting. Wallpaper peeled like dead skin. Family portraits hung crooked, eyes seeming to track his movement. His danger sense hummed low but constant, like standing near power lines.Sarah moved like someone who'd done this before. Confident. Tactical. She had a flashlight but didn't turn it on until they reached what used to be his father's study.The beam cut through darkness, illuminating a room that looked like a bomb had hit it. Furniture overturned. Books scattered. Bloodstains on the carpet. Old, brown, permanent.Marcus's father had died here.He tried to feel something. Grief. Rage. Anything.Nothing came. Just empty recognition. Dad died there. That's where his head hit the desk. That stain is probably his brain matter.Clinical. Detached. Like reading someone else's autopsy report."You're different," Sarah said, watching him. "Colder. How high is your corruption?""Thirty-eig

Marcus spent the next eighteen hours running.Not literally, that would've gotten him killed. But moving constantly. Subway tunnels. All-night diners where he sat in corners with his back to walls. Parking garages. Bus stations. Any place with crowds and exit routes.The Crimson Court kill team was still hunting. He could feel them through his danger sense. They'd gotten close twice once in Chinatown, once near the docks. Both times Marcus slipped away seconds before they arrived.His enhanced abilities made the difference. Perfect memory let him memorize street layouts after one glance. Enhanced charisma got strangers to cover for him without asking why. Silver tongue talked his way past three police checkpoints.But the clock was ticking. Four hours of enhanced power, then crash.By 6 PM, Marcus was in the bathroom of a 24-hour gym, washing blood from a split lip. The last near-miss had been too close. Crimson Court operative had gotten hands on him before Marcus broke free. His hea

The first twenty-four hours after accepting Sophia's deal, Marcus spent mostly unconscious.His body was a wreck. The system debuff hit harder than expected. Muscles cramped randomly, headaches felt like icepicks through his skull, nausea came in waves. Sophia explained it clinically: "You borrowed future capability. Now your future self is suffering the consequences. Think of it like a loan shark breaking your kneecaps."She left him on the couch with water, painkillers, and a bucket. Went about her business like Marcus wasn't there. Phone calls in languages he didn't recognize. Cleaning weapons at the kitchen table. Doing pull-ups from a bar mounted in the doorway.Marcus drifted in and out. Fever dreams mixed with system notifications. The blood system kept trying to sell him things:[RECOVERY BOOST: $10,000][DEBUFF REDUCTION: $50,000][INSTANT HEALING: $100,000]But his balance was $15,047.23. He needed every dollar for the mission. So he suffered through it.On the second day, h