The silver Sucre sat on my bedside table, a cold, metallic eye watching me as I tried to stitch together the fragments of a childhood I had spent a decade trying to forget. Roman was right about one thing: G.V. Stellaris wasn't just a pen name. It was a map, a celestial blueprint designed by a man who knew that in our world, the only thing more dangerous than a debt was a daughter who knew where the bodies—and the money—were buried.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the scarred numbers on the coin. My father had always been obsessed with the sky. Growing up in Ecuador, he would take me to the foothills of the Pichincha volcano, pointing out the constellations as if they were old friends. He told me that the stars were the only ledgers that couldn't be burned, the only secre
