A blood contract is not something you do lightly. It's not something you do cheaply. And it's not something you do in the ruins of a burning city unless every other option has already closed its door behind you.
"What do you mean, a blood contract?"
I had to ask, even knowing the answer. The choices were stacking against the possibilities.
Elisser reaches into her inventory and pulls out a stone. Blood-red. Bright like a fire star trapped inside glass. The light it throws off is too warm for its size.
A Blood Stone. Rank S.
I look at it. My stomach drops a floor.
"Boris. Get me somewhere to lay all this out."
Boris barks at a guard. They drag a slab of broken wall—a chunk of masonry the size of a trap door—and lean it flat between us. Improvised table.
