The Widow’s Blood Debt
I promised, my voice steady with the weight of the Moretti name.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt from the harbor and the faint, metallic tang of spray paint a permanent part of Willa's aura. She stood beside Silas, her emerald suit shimmering, her fingers still stained with the royal violet of her latest work. She looked at me with a sharp, discerning pride.
"He has the hands of a creator, Silas," Willa noted, her eyes tracing the way I held the obsidian coin of the Nexus. "But he has the eyes of a wolf. It’s a terrifying combination."