The bus ride was a special kind of misery. At 3:30 a.m., the only people on public transit are the ones who have run out of options or the ones who never had any to begin with. Kael sat near the back, his two suitcases taking up the aisle like unwanted guests. Every time the bus screeched to a halt, the wheels on his bags rattled, drawing tired, annoyed glares from a nurse in scrubs and a guy smelling of industrial cleaner.
Kael ignored them. He was too busy staring at the address on his phone.
The Obsidian Heights. Of course. Jaxen didn't just live in a building; he lived in a landmark. A glass-and-steel middle finger to the rest of the city's skyline.
When the bus finally wheezed to a stop three blocks away from the tower, Kael dragged his bags onto the sidewalk. His arms were no longer just aching; they felt like they'd been replaced by lead pipes. He walked the remaining distance, his cheap sneakers squeaking against the pristine pavement of the "Diamond District."
The lobby of The Obsidian Heights was more a cathedral than an entrance. The floor was white marble so polished Kael could see the exhausted bags under his eyes reflected in it.
The doorman looked at Kael. Then he looked at Kael's battered suitcases. Then he looked at the faded, slightly stained hoodie Kael was wearing. His expression didn't change, but his nose crinkled just a fraction, like he'd smelled something dying.
"Can I help you?" the doorman asked, his tone suggesting that the answer was probably 'no.'
"I'm here for Jaxen Valtieri," Kael said, pulling his shoulders back. He felt small, but he refused to act like it.
"Mr. Valtieri? Do you have an appointment?"
"I have a contract," Kael muttered, then pulled out his phone to show the message.
The doorman's eyebrows shot up. He made a quick, hushed call on a silver landline, nodding a few times. When he hung up, his posture shifted. He didn't become friendly—people like Jaxen didn't pay for friendly—he became efficient.
"Penthouse level. The elevator is to your right, sir. You'll need this." He handed Kael a black plastic card that felt heavier than it looked.
The elevator ride was silent and nauseatingly fast. There were no buttons for floors 1 through 49. Just a sensor. Kael watched the digital numbers climb. 10... 30... 50. His ears popped. He felt like he was leaving the earth behind, ascending into some weird, wealthy vacuum where the air probably cost ten dollars a breath.
When the doors slid open, they didn't open into a hallway. They opened directly into the apartment.
Kael stepped out and almost tripped over his own feet.
The place was huge. Obnoxiously huge. It was all glass walls and dark wood, with a view of the city that made the glowing skyscrapers look like toys. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a showroom for a life Kael didn't understand.
"You're late."
The voice came from the far end of the room. Jaxen was sitting on a low-slung Italian leather sofa, a glass of something amber in his hand. He wasn't wearing the suit jacket anymore. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, looking like he'd just finished a day of ruining people's lives.
Kael hauled his bags onto the rug—a rug that probably cost more than Leo's entire college tuition—and let them drop with a heavy thud.
"The bus doesn't care about your schedule," Kael said, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple.
Jaxen stood up, walking toward him with a slow, predatory grace. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes raking over Kael's disheveled appearance. "I sent a car. You chose the bus. Being stubborn is an expensive hobby, Kael. One I didn't think you could afford."
"I can afford my pride," Kael snapped back. "Everything else is on the tab."
Jaxen smirked. It wasn't a kind look. It was the look of a man who had just bought a new car and was wondering how fast it could go before it broke. He reached out, his fingers grazing the rough fabric of Kael's sleeve.
"We'll have to burn these," Jaxen said quietly.
"Excuse me?"
"The clothes. The shoes. The... whatever is in those bags." Jaxen gestured vaguely at the suitcases. "You're a Valtieri 'companion' now. You don't get to look like you just crawled out of a basement. My stylist will be here at eight. Until then, there's a guest suite down the hall. Third door on the left."
Kael felt the anger flare up in his throat, hot and sharp. "I'm not burning my stuff. I told you, I'm not a toy you can just dress up."
Jaxen stepped closer, invading Kael's personal space until Kael could smell the expensive whiskey and the faint, cold scent of ozone on him. "You signed the paper, Kael. You took the 'advance.' That means you've already been bought. Now, go to your room. You smell like the subway."
Kael wanted to punch him. He really did. But he thought of Leo. He thought of the debt. He gripped the handles of his bags and marched down the hall, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The guest suite was bigger than Kael's entire apartment. The bed was a mountain of white silk and down feathers. There was a bathroom with a tub that looked like it belonged in a spa, and a walk-in closet that was currently empty, waiting to be filled with the "costumes" Jaxen had mentioned.
Kael didn't unpack. He shoved his bags into a corner and sat on the edge of the bed. It was too soft. It felt like it was trying to swallow him.
He pulled his mother's watch out of his pocket. The glass was still cracked. The ticking was still steady. Tick. Tick. Tick. "Six months," he whispered to the empty, echoing room. "One hundred and eighty days. Just keep your head down and don't let him see you bleed."
But as he looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city below, Kael realized something terrifying. Up here, he was so high up that he couldn't see the streets anymore. He couldn't see the "real" world.
He was in the clouds now. And in the clouds, there was nothing to catch him if he fell.
He stayed awake until the sun began to bleed over the horizon, painting the room in shades of gold and orange. Just as he was finally drifting off, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Up," Jaxen's voice barked from the other side. "The stylist is here. And Kael? Try to look like you're worth the money I'm spending."
Kael sat up, his eyes burning with exhaustion. The "Hell" he had predicted?