Some debts aren't written in ink—they're carved into bone.

Sable Whitlow has always known the holler keeps its own accounts. Petals on her doorstep, whispers in the phone lines, bruises with no hand behind them—the old thing in the dark wants names, and it won't stop until she bends.

But Sable refuses. Armed with salt, iron, and a ledger of her own making, she drags the unseen into the open and lays down new law: no midnight business, no names as currency, payment only by work.

Her only ally is Cass Rooke—a man with a crow tattooed at his throat, a past full of sins, and a smile sharp enough to cut. He's no hero, but he's the only one willing to stand beside her when the habit turns from whispers to war.

Together they'll fight for more than survival. They'll fight for time itself.