Terms And Conditions

The rooftops always felt quieter after sunrise. But this one was too quiet.

Violet sat cross-legged on cracked concrete, watching the skyline breathe. She had bandaged herself as best she could, but her body still ached in places she didn't know had names. Kade's blood was dry on her hoodie. She hadn't changed. Couldn't. Her ribs ached with every breath, but that wasn't what kept her still.

It was the card. She'd whispered the words hours ago.

"I need help."

Now, the card sat in the dirt at her side, pulsing faintly like a dying ember. She didn't know if it had worked—if it had done anything at all. Maybe it was just a trick. Maybe that woman had tossed her a piece of metal and disappeared for dramatic effect.

But something in her bones said otherwise.

And Violet had learned to listen to her bones.

The wind shifted.

She tensed—then froze.

Because someone was already behind her. A soft clink of boots on concrete. Then a voice.

"Not a fan of elevators?"

She turned slowly.

The woman from the store—the one with the sharp eyes and cigarette voice. She wore a suit again. Immaculate. The wind never dared to ruffle her coat.

"I—I called," Violet said hoarsely.

"You did." The woman stepped forward, boots clicking with slow purpose. "Which means, lucky for you, I was already nearby."

"Lucky," Violet echoed, bitter.

The woman crouched, eyeing her like a broken weapon someone still wanted to use.

"You're bleeding internally. Three cracked ribs. Dislocated shoulder. Looks like some minor vocal damage too."

"You can tell that just by looking?"

"No," the woman said. "I smelled it. You reek of Gate resonance."

Violet blinked. "Is that… bad?"

"It's useful," the woman said simply. Then held out a hand. "Name's Q. Mister Q, technically. Don't ask why. I'm not in the mood for gender debates this morning."

Violet stared. "You're the one who left the card."

"Good job. You can follow breadcrumbs. You'll go far."

Violet didn't shake her hand.

Mr. Q shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She lit a cigarette with her thumb—a spark from her skin. Violet's eyes widened, but she didn't ask. She was done pretending anything made sense anymore.

"So," Q said, exhaling smoke into the wind, "you're Violet Reyne. Age nineteen. Former musician, one-time dropout, armed robbery participant, survivor of Gate corruption, murderer by public opinion. And—recently—Executioner. That sound about right?"

"...What's an Executioner?"

Mr. Q raised a brow. "You faced off against one already. You tell me."

Violet shivered.

That woman with the black eyes. The spear. The speed.

"She nearly killed me."

"Yes. And you nearly killed her." Q grinned. "Which, frankly, surprised the hell out of me. Most people in your condition wouldn't have lasted six seconds."

"I'm not most people," Violet said before she could stop herself.

Q smiled wider. "No. You're not."

She flicked the cigarette off the roof. "I'll make this simple. I run a small team of people with abilities like yours—Executioners. We deal with Gate activity, hunt down rogue entities, neutralize threats. You've already encountered two."

Violet stiffened. "Salvador."

"And his little mirror trick, yes. Mirrorheart. His Gate is potent, rare. Most people who face themselves don't come out in one piece. You did."

"Barely."

"Doesn't matter. You're still standing. That's what counts."

Mr. Q stood fully now. Her voice changed—less casual, more steel.

"You're a liability, Violet. To the world. To yourself. People like you tend to either implode or explode. And when they explode, cities die."

Violet looked away. "...Then what, you want to put me down before that happens?"

"No." Q stepped closer. "I want to teach you how not to."

Violet met her gaze.

"I'm not a soldier."

"Good. Soldiers follow orders. I want someone who thinks. Someone who bleeds."

"And what do you get out of it?"

Q smirked. "Same thing I always get—answers. Firepower. And the satisfaction of knowing I stole another one from the freaks trying to turn people like you into weapons."

Violet hesitated. "And if I say no?"

Q shrugged again. "Then I take this card, walk away, and wait for the news to tell me what building you leveled next. Maybe it's a hospital. Maybe it's a school. Depends on how bad your next breakdown is."

The silence after that was long.

Then Violet said, "I'm not a killer."

"No," Mr. Q said. "But you're close."

They stood in the wind.

And then Violet nodded.

"I want to understand what's happening to me. I want to stop hurting people. I want to stop… bleeding alone."

"Good answer."

Q reached into her coat and pulled out something small. A silver pin, shaped like a crescent split by a line. She handed it to Violet.

"Welcome to Velvet hand," she said. "Training starts now."