CHAPTER 17 – The Ledger’s Promise

Lira kept walking, but her thoughts stayed behind—caught in that cul-de-sac where the air had felt padded and wrong. She could still see the crow’s black beak gripping the strip of tarnished metal, droplets sliding from it like sweat.

Stamped into its surface:
EZRA.

Four names. That was the rule.
Four marks. Four deaths.
Then the bell reset.

Tonight, Ryke had been pulled out of that ledger. But Ezra had taken his place.

The bell’s list didn’t disappear. It passed. Like a debt.

And the bell always collected.

Noise and wrong rhythms might buy them time. But not forever.

The silence felt heavier than another chime. Like the air was holding its breath.

They reached the bakery. Warm light spilled into the fog, the scent of sugar and bread pressing against the night like a barrier. A tinny radio played behind the counter—human sound, clumsy and real.

Ezra slid into a corner booth without a word. He laid the recorder on the table, the screen still showing jagged traces of Ryke’s rescue.

Ryke dropped across from him and scrubbed his face with both hands, like he could wipe the night away.

Lira stayed standing, eyes scanning the street beyond the glass. She didn’t know what she was watching for. A shadow. A wing. The shape of something that didn’t belong.

Callen was last to enter. He didn’t sit. Just stood by the door, one ear tilted outward like a locksmith listening for tumblers.

Finally, Ezra spoke. “We have a problem.”

“You don’t say,” Ryke muttered.

Ezra didn’t look up. “I’ve got maybe one, maybe two more chances to use this trick before the bell learns it.”

Lira sat down slowly. “Learns it?”

Ezra’s gaze lifted. “It likes patterns. Once it understands a rhythm, it can use it to open the door on its terms—and then we’re the ones trapped inside.”

Ryke groaned. “We just pulled me out of one of those. You’re saying we can’t do it again?”

Ezra hesitated. Then looked at Lira. That was worse than a yes.

“We can try again,” he said. “But every time we use the wrong trick, the margin for error gets smaller. One bad tap, one breath too short or too long, and we’re not rescuing anyone.”

Ryke’s eyes narrowed. “Then what are we doing?”

Callen answered, still at the door. “Trading places.”

The table fell silent.

Ezra leaned back, rubbing his temples. “The bell’s ledger doesn’t care about feelings. Four names. Always four. If it loses one, it replaces it.”

Lira folded her arms. “So that metal strip the crow dropped—your name—”

Ezra nodded. “It’s not just a threat.”

His voice was flat.
“It’s a promise.”