The first time I heard the voice, I thought I was having a stroke.\n\nIt wasn’t in my ears—it was in my teeth, my bones, vibrating up from the floor. 'Contractual obligation imminent,' it said, like a robo-voice from a parking garage. Then the smell hit: burnt honey and rotting roses. My hands started bleeding without breaking skin.\n\nI looked down and saw the ink spreading—black veins curling from my wrists, forming symbols I somehow understood. Seven days. That’s all I had. And the only way out was to make someone else take my place.\n\nMy phone buzzed. Lena’s name flashed. She shouldn’t be able to call. She’s been dead for three weeks.