Two more blocks. Just two more fucking blocks to the old Metro station, and these assholes could chase their own tails for all I cared.
My boots slammed against rusted grating as I leaped from one broken conveyor to another, the metal groaning under my weight. The Rust district sprawled around me like a corpse that refused to die—abandoned factories with their guts spilled out, skeletal cranes reaching toward a smog-choked sky, and enough twisted metal to build a small city. Perfect for someone who knew where she was going. Less perfect for the two meat-heads breathing down my neck.
"Ashborne! You can't run forever!"
Watch me try, dickhead.
I slid under a collapsed loading crane, my leather jacket scraping against concrete. Behind me, I heard one of them grunt as he tried to follow. Too big, too slow, too stupid to realize that size meant shit when you were chasing someone through a metal maze.
The surveillance cameras here had given up years ago—bullet holes and rust had turned most of them into expensive paperweights. That was why us Rust rats survived down here while the Grid dwellers played pretend in their clean little boxes. No tracking, no digital footprints, just you and whatever skills you had.
I vaulted over a pile of scrap metal, landing in a crouch that would have made my knees scream if I wasn't running on pure adrenaline. One block to go. Just one more—
"Fuck."
Dead end. A building had collapsed across the alley—fresh concrete dust still coating the debris, couldn't have been more than a few days old. Last time I'd been through here, this was a clear path to the old transit tunnels. Now it was a wall of concrete and twisted rebar that even I couldn't climb fast enough. I spun around, already calculating options, but the two enforcers were blocking the only way out.
They were both human, both bigger than me, both wearing the kind of clean clothes that screamed Grid money. The taller one had a scar running from his ear to his jaw—probably thought it made him look dangerous. The shorter one just looked tired, like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Nyx Ashborne," Scar said, pulling out a tablet and checking my photo. "You know why we're here."
"Because you got lost looking for the tourist district?" I leaned against the concrete wall, trying to look casual despite the fact that my heart was hammering against my ribs. "This is way too far from your usual beat."
"Jace wants his money. Today."
"Jace wants a lot of things. Doesn't mean he gets them." I crossed my arms, putting on my best 'bored street rat' expression. "What's he offering for early payment? Professional courtesy discount?"
Tired Guy stepped forward. "Five hundred creds. That's not exactly a fortune we're talking about here."
Not a fortune to you, maybe.
Five hundred creds was two weeks of decent eating, or a month of shelter, or the difference between freezing and not freezing when winter hit. But I wasn't about to explain basic math to these assholes.
"Yeah, well, if it's so easy, why don't you spot me the cash? I'm good for it."
Scar didn't find that amusing. "Look, we can do this easy or hard. Your choice."
"Easy would be you fuck off and tell Jace I'm working on it. Hard would be you trying to collect blood from a stone." I pushed off the wall, standing straighter. "Because news flash—I don't have five hundred creds just sitting around."
"That's your problem to solve," Scar said, but I could see him eyeing the narrow alley. Neither of them wanted to start a fight in this confined space, especially not with a Rust rat who knew every inch of this territory.
"Look," Tired Guy said, and I could hear genuine exhaustion in his voice. "We're not here to break legs. We're here to collect a debt. Simple business transaction."
"Simple for who? You get paid either way." I looked between them, reading body language, calculating odds. They were nervous—uncomfortable being this deep in the Rust, worried about backup they didn't have. "Tell you what. Give me forty-eight hours, and I'll have your money."
"Jace said today—"
"Jace can kiss my ass. Forty-eight hours, or you can explain to him why his collectors couldn't handle one broke elf girl." I stepped closer to Scar, looking up at him with my best fuck-you smile. "Unless you want to try dragging me back through three miles of Rust territory. I'm sure the locals would love to meet some nice Grid boys."
The silence stretched out. Somewhere in the distance, metal clanged against metal—probably scavengers pulling copper from the old factories. A siren wailed from the direction of the Grid, but it was faint, like an echo from another world.
Tired Guy looked at his partner. "Forty-eight hours isn't unreasonable."
"Jace said—"
"Jace isn't here." Tired Guy pulled out his comm device. "We can give her two days. Better than coming back empty-handed."
I watched Scar's face go through several emotions before settling on resigned annoyance. He pointed a finger at me. "Forty-eight hours. Not forty-nine. We come back here and you don't have our money, this conversation goes very differently."
"Noted."
They backed toward the alley entrance, keeping me in sight until they were sure I wasn't planning to jump them. Smart boys. Once they were gone, I slumped against the concrete wall and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
Forty-eight hours to find five hundred creds. In a sane world, that might be possible. In my world?
I need a miracle. Or I need to get very creative, very fast.
The comm device in my pocket buzzed—probably another debt collector, or maybe someone with work. I ignored it. Right now, I needed to think. Five hundred creds was just the tip of the iceberg, and if I couldn't handle Jace's small-time operation, I was definitely fucked when the real players came calling.
I pushed off the wall and started walking deeper into the Rust. Time to see what kind of miracles were for sale in this shithole.
Two days. Better make them count.