Chloe left ten minutes later, taking all the chaotic energy in the room with her.
The door clicked shut, the flimsy slide-latch falling into place with a metallic rattle. And then, there was just silence.
The kind of silence that rings in your ears. The garbage truck outside had moved down the block. The radiator had stopped hissing. There was only the sound of the leaky kitchen faucet dripping into the aluminum sink. Drip. Drip.
Elara stood in the middle of her tiny living room. She looked at the broken mustard-yellow sofa. She looked at the shattered piece of wood on the linoleum.
Slowly, the bureaucratic armor she had worn since last night began to crack.
Thirty-two million dollars. The number didn't feel like a joke anymore. It didn't feel like a math problem she could solve with a red pen and a spreadsheet. It felt like a physical weight pressing against her sternum, making it hard to draw a full breath. She was twenty-six years old. She had eighty thousand dollars in student loans, a mother in a secure facility in New Jersey, and a job that barely paid for her groceries.
And last night, a monster had crashed into her life, bled into her veins, and chained her to a financial execution block. If Gideon found a loophole today, Julian would burn, and she would spend the rest of her life in a supernatural debtor's prison.
A cold, visceral wave of terror finally washed over her. Her hands, still clutching the chipped coffee mug, began to shake. Not a little tremble. A violent, uncontrolled shaking. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, burning her knuckles. She didn't even feel it.
"Stop that."
The voice wasn't gentle. It was a harsh, vibrating command that snapped through the tiny kitchen like a whip.
Julian was pacing. Three steps forward, three steps back. The cramped space of the living room was practically suffocating him. He wasn't looking at her burnt hands with concern; he was glaring at her, rubbing the center of his own chest with a vicious scowl.
"Stop broadcasting your human terror," Julian snarled, his fangs catching his lower lip. The neon-green dental shirt strained dangerously across his back as he crossed his massive arms. "The bond is a two-way conduit, Vance. Your panic is giving me a migraine. Breathe."
Elara stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. "I am facing federal prison and bankruptcy, Thorne. Forgive me if my anxiety is inconveniencing your morning."
"I am facing an Inquisition execution squad while wearing a shirt that says 'Floss Like a Boss'." Julian stepped into her personal space, completely crowding her against the cheap laminate counter. The golden glow in his eyes was hard, furious, and utterly unyielding. "I don't care about your federal human laws. The moment we get to a terminal, I am wiring funds from Zurich, paying off this pathetic debt, and finding a witch to sever this ridiculous bond. Do you understand me? I am not playing house in this slum."
Elara looked up into those glowing, arrogant eyes. The fear in her chest instantly burned into cold, bureaucratic rage. She slammed the coffee mug down onto the counter. Clack. "Zurich accounts are monitored by the Vatican, you idiot," she snapped, shoving past his solid chest to grab her coat from the dining chair. "You move one cent, Gideon tracks the IP, and he burns you alive before lunch. Then the debt defaults entirely onto me."
Julian caught her elbow as she passed. His grip was entirely too fast, entirely too strong. "I am not a prisoner, Elara. And I certainly do not take financial directions from someone whose furniture collapses under its own weight."
"You do now." Elara ripped her arm out of his grasp. She didn't back down. "Because until I find the accounting error that proves you didn't steal that money, you are a walking margin call. Now put your shoes on. We're taking the subway. And if you complain about the smell, I'll leave you for the rats."
Julian stared at her, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked visibly near his ear. He looked like he wanted to rip the kitchen sink out of the wall.
Instead, he turned sharply and snatched his ruined Italian oxfords from the floor.