Mart stared at his former friend in disbelief. For five years, he’d kept him locked in a cell to stop anyone from discovering he was a Soultaker—and now he was trusting that secret to this… stranger? Before he’d even agreed to help?

But Aravin’s eyes were as wide as Mart’s. “I swear, I didn’t say anything.” There was fear in his gaze, as if he was afraid Mart would start hating him for this.

As if I don’t already. “How else would he know? It’s not exactly written on my forehead, is it?”

“Not quite,” Fantoom cut in. “I have my ways.”

A shiver ran down Mart’s spine—not just from those unnatural red eyes, but from the man’s confidence. It was as if he’d planned this path out for them and was now calmly watching them place their feet exactly where he wanted.

“I’d like to welcome you to the lounge. I have a bottle of the finest cherry liqueur.”

Mart had no idea what to say. He was here to help Alyss. And because I have no idea what else to do. This eccentric young man, who Mart guessed was only a few years older than himself, was nothing like the monster hunter he’d pictured these past days. But at least he didn’t seem like someone who acted on blind luck. Maybe Alyss and Aravin’s plan wasn’t quite as foolish as it had sounded.

“Fine,” Aravin muttered, clearly uncomfortable in Fantoom’s presence.

By now, Mart had figured out they’d probably had some kind of romantic entanglement that hadn’t ended well—one that had hurt Aravin deeply. It also made sense of some earlier comments; apparently, his friend had once had feelings for him, and Mart had completely misread his jealousy. It was a small relief. Alyss hadn’t been the real issue—Aravin had genuinely thought he was doing the right thing.

With a rattling sound, a steel cage descended. Cami stepped inside. “One more can join.”

Aravin stepped in quickly. The boy pulled several levers, and the lift rose again.

Mart was next, stepping in alongside Alyss. She gave him a slightly apologetic look, a faint blush on her cheeks. He gripped the bars at the entrance. The passageway stood open, and he looked down through it, very aware of how close Alyss was.

Oxygen seemed easier to breathe once they stepped out. They were standing atop the massive elongated balloon. A narrow walkway ran between bronze railings on either side, lined with six luxurious cabins.

The first was the largest. The youngest crew member stood at the entrance like a poorly dressed butler and gestured them inside.

The lounge was built of dark wood with an arched ceiling. Wheel-shaped windows cast light on red velvet sofas in one corner. To the right was a table with comfortable chairs, and opposite it, a bar that seemed to double as a kitchen. The overall impression was surprisingly homey—and luxurious.

Aravin had already sunk onto the sofa. Mart took the armchair beside it, leaning back against the firm seat and resting his head on the cushion as he stared at the ceiling.

Behind him, countless gears clicked in unison, driving an enormous clock.

What was it like to call this place home? They could go wherever they wanted. No one telling them what to do. Fantoom had said he wanted a Soultaker aboard—but for what purpose? Would Mart even enjoy life on a ship? After prison, he wasn’t exactly picky. The idea was more appealing than the decaying cities that had turned into isolated oases.

He forced himself to stop that line of thought before he started taking it seriously. He didn’t even know if these people intended to help them. They might rob Alyss and Aravin blind, or keep them here and have their families transfer all their credit. Luxury radiated from every surface, and given their criminal streak, theft didn’t seem out of the question.

The door shut. The crew had come in. Fantoom and the masked young man took seats on a sofa perpendicular to Aravin’s. Cami perched on the arm of Mart’s chair, drumming his fingers against his leg.

Two of them were metal.

Mart stared. Have I eaten them? Awkwardly, he looked away. In truth, he couldn’t remember ever having a proper conversation with someone who wasn’t a Scion—except servants or waitresses. They were always painted as people of little capability, best suited for simple work. But Fantoom carried himself like a wealthy Scion, and he didn’t seem to treat his crew like mere laborers. The young man beside him was probably an inventor, and Cami clearly had his own talents. And the fourth… Mart glanced around for the helmswoman—she emerged from behind the bar, cherry liqueur in hand, taking a swig without any intention of sharing.

“Let’s hear their story first,” she said when Fantoom turned toward her. “Doesn’t seem like they’re worth a sip yet.” She hoisted herself onto the bar, her prosthetic leg jutting forward.

Again, Mart thought of the human meat his mothers had served on feast days. Hopefully she’d lost her leg to some kind of monster.

Fantoom turned back. “Fair point.” He shot a sly grin at Aravin. “I may have enjoyed a few of your… talents, but I’m not sure the others would be as impressed.”

Aravin’s cheeks flushed crimson. The discomfort radiating from him tugged at Mart’s insides, their bond unusually strong now they were in the same room. Mart had to fight the urge to bolt. He couldn’t even tell whether it was his urge or Aravin’s.

Time for a distraction. “Why don’t you tell them about your discovery?” he asked Alyss.

Her hands rested in her lap, and she nodded. “Yes. That’s a good idea.”

In a calm voice, she explained her brother’s research, which she had taken over after his death. Her tone sharpened when she spoke of her boss, who had tried to force her to abandon it.

No one interrupted her. Cami tapped the fabric beneath his fingers and shifted impatiently, clearly not one for long attention spans. The two men listened with genuine interest, while the woman on the bar had raised the bottle to her lips again.

“The only way I can think of to save the Golden Heart—and keep us all from freezing to death in the next five years—is to find new souls. For that, we need a Soultaker. And dragons.” She looked straight at Fantoom. “And someone who knows where to find them. According to Aravin, that’s you.”

Mart had held his breath when she mentioned the Soultaker part and was relieved when she immediately moved on to the dragons, making that the focus. Apparently Fantoom had already figured out what he was, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier.

At least he makes it sound like I’m an asset, not a monster to be killed.

Fantoom leaned back on the sofa, his arm draped along the backrest. “If no Scion believes you, why would you think we would?”

“Does it matter if you believe me? We assumed you’d only work for payment anyway. And that dragon hunting isn’t new to you.”

“It’s not an everyday job.”

Mart leaned forward. “So they do still exist? Dragons?”

“Mhm. They keep to themselves. You know all about that, don’t you?”

Mart narrowed his eyes. Just how much did this man know? Did he know about the years in prison too?

“So you can help us get the souls?” Alyss asked. “What’s your price?”

Fantoom didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved between them. “Five years.”

She frowned. “Five years?”

“In my service. Here, on the ship. At least those two friends of yours—they’re… interesting. And if you turn out to be interesting too, I’ll take you on for five years as well.”

“You want three of those shitty Scions on the ship?” The blonde woman who’d been on the bar hopped down and walked toward them, her mechanical foot tapping against the floor.

“They won’t be Scions anymore. If you want grilled calf, you can have it.”

She grimaced. “I don’t need more crew members.”

“I think our Aravin can get you your own ship after our deal’s done.”

That earned her a thin smile. “Hmm. I could live with that.”

“Good.”

It still hadn’t quite sunk in for Mart that they were actually willing to help—and that he’d just been turned into a bargaining chip. Along with Aravin.

“I’m not spending five years on a ship with him.” He nodded sourly toward Aravin. “Unless you lock him up.”

“Are you a Scion too?” the woman asked.

“I’m an adopted, presumed-dead prisoner.”

She grinned. “That’s a good story, Cami. Fine, we’ll take him.”

That sounded slightly better, but it still wasn’t what he wanted. “I might not have anywhere to go, but I’m not living in captivity again. If I want to leave, I leave. Without me, this plan’s pointless.”

“Fair enough.” Fantoom turned to Aravin. “The Soultaker keeps his freedom. I like my soul right where it is.” His grin tilted, but his tone had a bitter edge before he lightened again. “But you, handsome, you’re staying on my ship for five years making tinctures, and you’re getting Saxa a ship of her own. Deal?”

Aravin sighed, shoulders slumping. His gaze briefly met Mart’s. He sees this as penance. Five years in prison.

“I agree.”

“Fantastic.” Fantoom sprang to his feet and glanced at Saxa. “So, is this finally worth a sip of cherry liqueur?”

She took another swig. “Fine.” She set the bottle on the table and fetched a few glasses.

“Now, practical matters…” Fantoom went on. “How skilled are you with your soul magic, Mart?”

“Not,” he muttered. “I only found out I was a Soultaker a few days ago.”

“Oh.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Then you’ll need a teacher.”

“Only all the other Soultakers are dead.”

“Not all of them.” Fantoom took a sip, savoring it with closed eyes before fixing Mart with a meaningful look. “I know another Soultaker. We’ll pay him a visit. A recluse, I’ll admit—not fond of company. But I’m sure he’ll want to meet you.”

Mart stared at him, stunned. There was another Soultaker?

Someone he could ask questions, someone who could help him master his gift, someone who could make sure capturing souls wasn’t all on him? A rare, grateful warmth spread through his chest.

A tentative smile touched his lips.

He couldn’t wait to meet this Soultaker.