The room swam, circles of cold stone and burning runes. My breath snagged in my throat, raw as torn cloth. Blood pulsed in my palm where the glass had bitten deep. My shadow flickered on the wall—split, doubled, grinning with my own mouth.
— You're running dry, I croaked, voice like gravel. What do you want now? What's left?
The Trace pulsed, hot iron in my bones. A shudder. The silhouette stood near, close enough for me to taste their fear.
— Don't give it more. Not yet.
A whisper—urgency cut with panic.
— It's not your choice, I spat, turning on them. My mouth felt wrong, the words sticky.
The shadow peeled from the wall, stepped close. My shape, my eyes, empty as old wounds.
— Share, it rasped, voice doubled and hungry. I want the fear you stole. The promise you broke.
My hand trembled. The ache in my palm spread up my wrist, throbbing with the Trace's demand.
— Take it, then.
My other self mirrored me, raising a cut hand, blood slick and shimmering with rune-light.
I pressed my palm to theirs. Pain screamed through me. I buckled, the world narrowing to red and black.
— Stop! You'll empty out—
The silhouette grabbed my shoulder, tried to pull me back.
— I have to—
My voice cracked, thin as a child's.
The Trace surged, tearing something loose. Memory tore. I staggered, gasping.
— Don't forget your name, the shadow hissed. Give me the debt, not the root.
I flinched. The room spun. My mind scraped hollow.
What debt? What root?
— What do you mean?
My voice was just breath now.
The silhouette's hand tightened.
— Your name. Keep it. Pay with something else.
— How?
My tongue was thick, heavy with old blood.
The Trace laughed inside me, a sound like bones rolling in a box.
— Offer the wound, not the marrow. Give the blood, not the story.
— Fine, I choked.
I shoved the glass deeper into my palm, letting blood pool, drip, sizzle on the runes at my feet.
The runes hissed, drank deep. The door shuddered. The Trace whined, disappointed.
The shadow stepped back, features melting into blackness.
— You're learning, it whispered. You're not free.
The silhouette yanked me upright.
— Move! They're coming!
I stumbled, clutching my ruined hand. A roar echoed from behind—porteurs, close now.
— Wait! The Trace—if I use it again, I—
— You'll lose more, they said, eyes wild. Choose: bleed or forget.
My stomach twisted.
— Is there a limit? How much can it take?
The silhouette shook their head.
— It never stops. But you will.
My shadow lingered by the door, lips curled in a sneer.
— Next time, I want your voice, it crooned.
The Trace hummed, eager, hungry for another price.
Footsteps thundered up the hall. I staggered for the next threshold.
— Which will you give? the silhouette hissed.
— Blood, or memory?
The Trace purred in my skull, impatient.
My hand throbbed. My thoughts slipped, threatened to scatter.
— Decide, the silhouette pressed.
My breath stuttered. I reached for the door, blood wetting the runes.
The lock clicked, hungry for more.
Behind me, the shadow grinned.
Ahead, darkness waited, open-mouthed.
And the Trace whispered—
— Not all debts are paid in blood.
My fingers closed around the handle.
I pushed forward.