Chapter 11 #2
The question sits heavily between us, unanswered and maybe unanswerable. He’s right, in a twisted way. The guard still chose. Still had agency. Still felt good about his decision.
But it wasn’t really his choice, was it? Not when an angel was standing there, radiating desire and want and making every cell in the guard’s body scream yes.
Is that better than compulsion? Or just a prettier version of the same thing?
I don’t know.
And that bothers me more than anything else.
“Come on,” Croesus says, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s finish this.”
The handle doesn’t turn.
Locked. Of course.
Croesus makes a small sound of annoyance, then places his palm flat against the door. I feel more than see what happens next, a pulse of power, gold light flickering briefly under his hand. The lock clicks.
“Handy,” I mutter.
“One of many perks.” He pushes the door open. “After you.”
The office beyond is exactly what I expected: sleek, modern, expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive desk covered in papers and screens, leather chairs that barely look sat in. A space designed to impress clients and intimidate competitors.
And sitting behind the desk, staring at his computer screen with bloodshot eyes and a tie hanging loose around his neck, is David Barnes.
He doesn’t look up when we enter. Doesn’t even seem to notice we’re there. Just keeps typing, his fingers moving with almost no thought across the keyboard.
“Mr. Barnes,” Croesus says, his voice slicing the silence.
Barnes’s hands freeze. Slowly, so slowly, he looks up.
And the moment he sees Croesus, his face goes white.
“No.” The word comes out as a whisper. “No, you can’t. I’m still, the contract isn’t—”
“Relax, David.” Croesus moves into the room with that same leonine grace, and I follow, staying close to the door. “No one is here to collect yet.”
Barnes is shaking now. Actually shaking, with his hands trembling on the desk. “Then why...”
“Because someone else wants to collect first. And I thought you might prefer the alternative.” Croesus stops a few feet from the desk, hands in his pockets, perfectly casual. “Tell me, David. How’s the contract working out for you?”
“Fine.” Barnes’s voice cracks on the word. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m-I’m performing perfectly. Every deal closes, every client is happy, I’m —”
“Exhausted,” Croesus finishes. “Isolated. Incapable of asking for help even when you desperately need it. Watching your marriage crumble because you can’t admit weakness. Watching your health decline because you can’t slow down. Perfect, isn’t it? Exactly what you asked for?”
Barnes’s face crumples. For a moment, I think he’s going to cry. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me it would be like this. He just said he said I’d be the best. That I’d be perfect.”
“And you are. That’s the problem.” Croesus’s voice is almost gentle. “Pride is a beautiful sin, David. It gives you everything you want right until it destroys you. Seraph is very good at his job.”
“I can’t—” Barnes’s breath is coming faster now, panic setting in. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. But the contract... “
“Can be broken.” Croesus gestures toward me. “This is Raven. She’s a sin eater. She can take your contract, absorb it, break it. Set you free.”
Barnes’s eyes snap to me for the first time, hope and suspicion warring on his face. “Free?”
“Completely. No more contract. No more pride. No more perfect performances. Just... you. Normal, flawed, capable of asking for help.” Croesus pauses. “There is, of course, a cost.”
And there it is. The catch. There’s always a catch.
“What cost?” Barnes’s voice is small, defeated.
“Your soul comes to me instead of Seraph. When you die naturally, in your own time, you belong to the House of Gold rather than the House of Ruin.”
I step forward before I can stop myself.
Croesus’s hand comes up, silencing me without touching me. Not aggressively. Just a gesture that says wait.
“Think about it, David,” Croesus continues, his attention still on Barnes.
“Right now, you’re going to break. Soon.
Maybe days, maybe weeks. And when you do, Seraph will collect your soul, and you’ll spend eternity in his house, a monument to failed perfection.
Or...” He pauses. “You can choose freedom now. Live the rest of your life as a normal human. Admit weakness, ask for help, save your marriage, actually sleep for once. And yes, when you eventually die of old age, or whatever kills you, your soul comes to me. But you’ll have lived first. Really lived. Isn’t that worth the trade?”
Barnes is crying now. Silent tears stream down his face as he stares at Croesus. “You’re, you’re trading one contract for another.”
“I am,” Croesus agrees. “I’m not pretending otherwise. But my contract is better. You get your life back. You get to be human again. All I take is what comes after.”
“That’s still his soul,” I say, unable to stay quiet. “You’re still collecting him.”
“Yes.” Croesus doesn’t look at me. “But he gets to live first. That’s more than Seraph would give him.”
He’s right. Breaking the contract means Barnes goes free now, lives a normal life, and only pays the price when he dies naturally decades from now. That’s better than what he has. Better than breaking under pride’s weight and losing his soul, anyway.
It’s still predatory. Still exploitative.
But it’s also mercy.
Sort of.
Barnes looks between us, desperate and broken and so, so tired. “If I say yes, if she breaks it, I’m really free? I can ask my wife for help? I can admit I don’t know things? I can be...normal?”
“Completely normal,” Croesus confirms. “The only thing that changes is where your soul goes when you die. And that won’t be for a long time. You’re forty-two. Healthy, aside from the stress. You could have another forty years. Fifty, even.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we leave. You keep your contract with Seraph. And in a few weeks when you collapse from exhaustion or have a breakdown in front of your biggest client, he’ll collect you just like he always planned.
” Croesus tilts his head. “Your choice, David. Freedom now and payment later. Or keep drowning and pay now.”
It’s not really a choice. Not when it’s presented like that.
Barnes knows it too.
“Do it,” he whispers. “Please. Break it. I don’t care about later. I just need it to stop. Please.”
Croesus finally looks at me. Those gold eyes find me unerringly, and I see the question in them.
He will not force this. Not going to make me break the contract if I refuse.
He’s giving me the choice.
And damn him, he knew I’d make the right one.
I step forward, moving around the desk to stand beside Barnes. He looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, desperate and pleading.
“This is going to hurt,” I tell him. “Both of us. But it’ll be over quickly.”
“I don’t care.” His voice breaks. “Just make it stop.”
I look back at Croesus one more time. He’s watching me, or listening to me, or sensing me, however he perceives the world. And there’s something in his expression that might be respect. Or satisfaction that I’m doing exactly what he wanted.
I can’t tell which.
I turn back to Barnes, place my hand on his shoulder, and reach for the contract I can feel wrapped around him like chains.
Golden light. Beautiful and terrible. Pride in its purest form sunk into his bones like hooks.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and pull.