I patrol the veil for a guild that pays me in cigarettes and answers with a shrug. I have one sister, one knife, and a landlord who calls twice a week.
Then a dragon walked into the guild auction and bought my contract with a raised eyebrow and a sum that shut the room up.
His name is Ilias Verron. He says he doesn't want a housekeeper, he doesn't want a whore, he doesn't want a mate. He wants a witness.
Someone died in his house six months ago. The guild buried it. He thinks I can unbury it, and I think he's using me, and we're both right.
What neither of us counted on was the bond. Or her knife under his floorboards.
Or how much of me was already the guild's to sell.
