The dust from the erased vault tasted like scorched metal and ancient, forgotten dust. Nala stood in the center of the crater, the red light beneath her skin settling into a steady, predatory hum. She didn't feel like the girl who had been caged in the estate anymore. She didn't feel like the asset the Board had spent millions to refine. She felt like the debt collector.
In her arms, Dante Moretti was a dead weight. The man who had once loomed over her like a dark god was now just a collection of broken bones and shallow breaths. His blood, thick and smelling of expensive whiskey and iron, soaked through her dress, turning the white fabric into a heavy, crimson shroud.
"The helicopters are getting closer, Nala," the man with the digital mask said. His voice was distorted, flickering betw
