The Observation Deck is a glass dome bolted to the top of the black-site like a diamond on a coffin.
Tonight it's an auction pit.
They've rolled in a circular stage, spotlights sharp enough to cut skin. Rows of velvet seats for the on-site VIPs (buyers who paid extra to smell the fear in person). Above them, a ring of holo-screens streams to eight million paying viewers worldwide.
I'm marched in wearing the standard Lot uniform: white silk slip so thin it's basically fog, silver collar upgraded with a leash port, bare feet on freezing steel.
Two guards shove me to the center. My wrists are zip-tied behind my back. The leash clicks onto the collar with a sound like a judge's gavel.
Bastian Crowe stands on the podium, black suit immaculate, smile carved from ice.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and honored degenerates," he purrs into the microphone. "Lot 282. Twenty-four years old. Never shifted (collar guaranteed). Virgin mate bond intact. Starting bid: ten million."
The screens flash the opening graphic:
LOT 282 – "THE GLITCH" CURRENT BID: $10,000,000 TIME REMAINING: 00:09:59
Numbers climb before I finish blinking.
$18M $27M $41M
Every jump is accompanied by a soft chime and a close-up of my face on the big screen. I look pale. I look breakable.
Perfect.
Bastian circles me like a shark in Italian leather.
"Note the suppression collar (permanently welded). The buyer receives the only remote capable of removing it. Imagine the possibilities."
A ripple of laughter from the velvet seats.
My tongue finds the molar I hollowed out last year. Inside: one drop of liquid silver (enough to burn the leash port open if I bite down).
Not yet.
$73 million now. Chime. Chime.
Bastian leans in, breath warm against my ear, voice for me alone.
"Smile, little bird. Your Dr. Voss screamed so prettily when they took her apart. I'm told you still keep her blood under one fingernail. Shall we test if it matches the carpet?"
My pulse spikes. The collar sizzles.
I smile with teeth.
Bastian's eyes narrow (pleased, hungry).
$119 million. $150 million.
A new bidder tag flashes gold:
VIEWER_666_KINGSLAYER – $200,000,000
The room goes dead quiet.
Bastian's smile flickers for the first time.
"Viewer Six-Six-Six has doubled the pot. Do I hear two-fifty?"
Silence.
I tilt my head, studying the golden tag. Same bastard who paid for Elias's scream.
Bastian raises the gavel.
"Going once—"
I bite down on the silver molar.
Burning liquid floods my mouth. I spit it straight into the leash port.
Sparks explode. The collar snaps open with a metallic shriek.
Gasps. Screams.
I move.
Two steps, leap, knee to the nearest guard's throat. Zip-ties cut free on his fallen knife.
The holo-screens glitch hard.
I slam both palms against the main console Bastian uses for bids.
Root access flares across my pupils like twin eclipses.
Lines of code scroll so fast they blur.
I type one command with fingers still dripping silver-blood.
SWAP_LOT_282_WITH_LOT_001
Enter.
Every screen in the dome goes blood red.
The golden bidder tag rips in half.
Half of it reattaches above my head:
LOT 282 – CURRENT BID $200M → CLOSED
The other half rockets across the dome and slams into the chest of the man standing in the VIP shadows.
Kade Mercer.
The cracked crown tattoo on his collarbone ignites like molten metal.
His auction timer (the one that's been counting down since he was fifteen) freezes, then rewinds violently to:
00:02:59
The entire dome loses its mind.
Bastian's composure shatters.
"Security! Collar her—NOW!"
Guards rush me.
I lift one hand, lazy.
The lights die.
Every holo-screen flashes a single line in my own voice:
"House rules just changed. New owner takes possession in three minutes. Better run, Your Majesty."
Emergency red floods back.
Kade hasn't moved.
He's staring at the glowing numbers now branded across his chest like I just carved them there with a branding iron.
Our eyes lock across the chaos.
His are storm-gray, unreadable.
Then the corner of his mouth twitches (something dangerously close to a smile).
He mouths two words I don't need sound to read:
Game on.
The leash lies severed on the stage, still smoking.
I step over it barefoot, blood between my toes, and walk straight toward the most expensive man in the world.
Behind me, Bastian is screaming into his dead microphone.
In front of me, eight million viewers are realizing the auction just ate its own tail.
And somewhere high above, the moon cracks loud enough to be heard on Earth.
Kade's timer hits 00:02:11 when he finally speaks (low, rough, meant only for me).
"Hope you've got a plan for what happens when that clock hits zero, little bird."
I smile with every tooth I own.
"Plan? I'm making it up as I go. Keep up, hunter."
00:02:10
00:02:09
Run.