The chapel's glass had not yet stopped trembling when the fog outside rose like a living wall. The priests clutched their beads and whispered frantic litanies, but I knew those words were coins tossed into a bottomless well. The Ledger's flare had not only cracked windows—it had called something.
Seraphine grabbed my arm, her iron hand hot from sudden activation. "We're leaving. Now."
The priests shouted after us, some begging us to banish the heartbeat, others cursing us for disturbing it. None dared to block the iron arm. We forced our way back through the crowd outside. Their chants faltered as the fog thickened, rolling over cobblestones, swallowing alleys. It was not river-mist. It carried a weight, a pulse, a chill that stank of ledgers long overdue.
The Ledger stirred violently against my chest, nearly burning through my coat. Pages flared open with a gust of unseen wind:
Manifestation: Collector Approaches.
Debts Targeted: Aurelius' Heartbeat, residual faith.
Warning: Not all debts are negotiable.
I staggered, knees weakening as the words seared into me. "Seraphine—it's coming."
"I know," she said flatly. "Keep breathing, clerk. We'll need every heartbeat you have left."
The fog rippled. A figure emerged—not walking, not floating, but collecting. Step by step it gathered the mist into its form, until it towered at twice the height of a man. Its body was stitched from scraps of contracts, parchment skin inked with clauses that bled like fresh wounds. Coins hung like teeth in its half-formed mouth, clinking as it breathed.
It carried no weapon. It needed none. It carried authority.
The crowd scattered in shrieks, pamphlets trampled underfoot. Children wailed. Dogs howled. The priests in the chapel began a new chant, but their voices were drowned by the grinding sound the Collector made—an endless tallying, quill scratching on parchment that wasn't there.
Seraphine stepped forward, planting her boots. Her iron arm glowed faintly, runes alive with power. "Clerk. Tell me what it is."
I forced my trembling hands to open the Ledger again. The pages spilled ink with terrible calm:
Identity: Collector-class entity. Veil-enforcer.
Purpose: To claim debts unpaid.
Terms: Absolute.
Weakness: Only negotiates with greater debt.
I licked dry lips. "It…enforces ledgers. All ledgers. Even saints. It'll take Aurelius' heartbeat unless we offer it something greater."
Seraphine swore. "Greater debt. Of course."
The Collector turned its faceless gaze toward us. Paper-skin rustled, contracts shifting. Its voice came not as sound, but as a weight in the skull:
Balance required. Payment overdue.
My chest clenched. Threads of blue light tore from the chapel, flowing into the Collector's frame. Each soul tied to Aurelius' second heartbeat gasped in unison, dragged a step closer to collapse. The city's breath faltered.
Seraphine's iron arm hissed. She drew her pistol with her human hand and fired once, twice. The bullets vanished into the parchment flesh like stones into water. The Collector did not flinch. Instead, it raised one claw of folded contracts and pointed at me.
Ledger-bearer. Your sum is incomplete. Present collateral.
I nearly collapsed under the weight of its voice. My marrow still ached from the forge, my palm still burned with the candle, my ribs carried the bruise of three stolen heartbeats. What else did I have to offer? What could weigh heavier than a saint's lingering miracle?
The Ledger scribbled furiously:
Option One: Offer three truths at once.
Option Two: Sacrifice five marrow beats.
Option Three: Burn the Candle fully.
Option Four: Invoke Seraphine's Iron Clause. Unauthorized.
"Don't even think it," Seraphine snapped, reading my face. "That arm's mine, not the Ledger's."
The Collector stepped closer. Each stride sent parchment scraps fluttering. Each coin in its mouth clinked like a toll. Blue threads tightened on the crowd; men and women fell to their knees, clutching their chests.
I clenched my fist, nails biting into skin. To burn the Candle fully would be to strip myself bare of truths I had not even spoken aloud. To give marrow was to gamble with my skeleton. To pour secrets into its maw was to hollow myself into nothing.
The fog coiled tighter. The heartbeat pulsed again, rattling the city's bones.
"Choose!" Seraphine shouted.
The Ledger's ink blazed, demanding my decision. My vision swam, the Collector's shadow filling the world.
And I whispered—
—End of Chapter 8—