.
"Where are we," Mara whispered.
Gray shifted against the rope, trying—and failing—to look over his shoulder. "Basement level. Judging by the smell? A drinking hole that doesn't ask questions."
"That's comforting."
"Could be worse," he said. "They could've taken the keepsong."
Mara's breath caught. "They didn't."
"No," he agreed. "Which means this isn't about theft."
She leaned her head back against his shoulder despite herself, exhaustion crashing in now that the danger had paused.
The pause didn't last.
A metal door scraped open somewhere above them, followed by laughter—too loud, too practiced. Boots descended a short flight of stairs. Someone whistled badly, off-key and proud of it.
"Ah," Gray muttered. "There he is."
"Who?" Mara asked, already tensing.
Gray sighed. "Dungle Gibbs."
"That's not a real name."
"I wish."
The footsteps stopped in front of them.
A man squatted into view, resting his elbows on his knees. He was broad and comfortably ugly, with a grin that suggested long practice and no shame. His coat was stitched together from three different eras, and his boots were polished just enough to be intentional.
Behind him stood four others—his gang, unmistakably. Not uniformed, not subtle. Each one watched differently, like they'd specialized in various forms of patience.
"Well I'll be damned," the man said cheerfully. "If it isn't Gray. I've missed you."
Gray closed his eyes. "Dungle."
"You disappear for months," Dungle continued, leaning closer. "No calls. No messages. Then suddenly you drop out of the city's throat and land in my basement."
He laughed. "That's rude."
Mara twisted slightly. "Is he… always like this?"
"Unfortunately," Gray said. "He gets worse when he's owed money."
Dungle gasped theatrically. "Owed?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "Gray, my friend. That hurts."
"You charged me interest on interest," Gray shot back. "That's not lending. That's spite."
"That's business," Dungle said brightly. "And speaking of business—who's the girl?"
Mara stiffened.
Gray answered immediately. "Not part of it."
"Oh?" Dungle's eyes flicked to her. Sharp. Assessing. "She looks very much like part of something."
"She's not," Gray said. "Let her go."
Dungle leaned back on his heels, considering. "See, that'd be easier if you weren't tied up in my bar."
"Basement," Gray corrected.
"Bar," Dungle insisted. "People drink down here. That makes it a bar."
Mara frowned. "You kidnapped us."
"Good observation. You seem slow. However, I would prefer the term temporarily detained," Dungle said. "Huge difference."
One of the gang snorted.
Dungle waved him quiet, then looked at Mara again. "You got a name?"
She hesitated.
Gray spoke first. "Don't."
Mara ignored him.
"Mara." She spoke.
Dungle smiled wider. "Lovely. You know, you don't look like Gray's usual disasters."
"Hey," Gray protested.
"Correction," Dungle said. "You look worse. More… complicated."
Mara didn't like how accurate that felt.
"So," Dungle continued, standing, "here's how this goes. Gray owes me a considerable amount of money. He vanished before paying it. That's bad form."
Gray shifted. "I was busy not being erased."
"Everyone's busy," Dungle replied. "Some of us still pay our debts."
He snapped his fingers.
One of the gang cut the rope.
Gray and Mara pitched forward slightly before catching themselves.
Dungle crouched again, lowering his voice just enough to feel intimate. "You're lucky," he said to Mara. "If it were just him, I'd have sold him back to the city by now."
Mara's stomach dropped. "You can do that?"
Dungle shrugged. "City's always buying."
Gray went very still.
"But," Dungle continued, smiling again, "you're not walking out of here just like that."
Mara frowned. "What?"
Dungle straightened and snapped his fingers once.
A sharp click sounded behind Mara's ear.
Not loud.
Close.
Too close.
Her vision spiked white as pain detonated at the base of her skull. She cried out and nearly collapsed forward, muscles locking, breath ripped from her lungs.
Gray shouted, "Don't—!"
Another snap.
Gray convulsed, teeth clenched as he was dragged down by the same invisible force, gasping through the pain. It lasted only a second—but it was long enough to teach.
When it stopped, Mara was shaking.
"What… was that…" she whispered.
Dungle sighed, almost apologetic. "Shock chips. Subdermal. Old stock, but reliable."
Gray swallowed hard. "You implanted us."
"Correction," Dungle said pleasantly. "You were implanted when you came in unconscious. I don't like surprises."
Mara pressed a hand to her neck, fingers trembling. She couldn't feel anything—no seam, no swelling. Just heat. Residual pain.
"You can't just—" she started.
Snap.
Pain flared again, sharper this time.
She screamed.
"Ah," Dungle said, holding up a finger. "Rule one: don't finish that sentence."
Gray glared up at him. "This wasn't part of the debt."
"Oh, it is now," Dungle replied. "Your debt doubled when you vanished. Tripled when you brought her. And the chip?" He smiled. "That's collateral."
Mara's breath came in ragged pulls. "I'm not part of this."
Dungle looked at her with genuine curiosity. "You're standing next to him."
"That doesn't make this my problem."
"It does," he said lightly, "because the chip doesn't care whose fault it is."
Gray's voice was low. "Let her go. I'll do the job."
Dungle considered that.
Then shook his head. "No."
Gray stiffened. "What."
"She's already involved," Dungle said. "And frankly?" He looked at Mara again, eyes sharp. "I don't trust you to come back alive without leverage."
Mara stared at him. "You're forcing me into this."
"Yes," Dungle said. "I am."
Silence fell, heavy and final.
"You do a job for me," Dungle continued, businesslike now. "One job. You survive it, you get paid. You clear Gray's debt."
"And the chips?" Mara asked.
Dungle's smile thinned. "Removed. Cleanly. I even throw in antibiotics."
Gray let out a humorless laugh. "You're insane."
"I'm practical," Dungle corrected. "You wandered into my city with a price on your invisibility."
He stepped back toward the stairs. "You start tonight."
Mara's hands curled into fists. "And if we refuse?"
Dungle paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Then you learn," he said gently, "what the chip does when I stop being patient."
He stared at Mara with eyes that she had never seen anyone cast upon her. She felt more vulnerable than ever before. She hated it.
"I'll send someone to untie you brats later. Good Luck!"
The door slammed shut.
Footsteps faded.
The basement hummed.
Mara stared at him. "You know, I want to punch you right now."
"That's fair," he said. "You'll hate me more later."
Mara slumped back against Gray's shoulder, shaking. "You owe me," she whispered.
Gray didn't argue.
"…I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
Somewhere above them, glasses clinked. Music swelled. Life continued.
And just like that, they weren't running anymore.
They were owned.