“The policy killed them,” Thorne said, his voice finally breaking. “It didn’t mean to. It was just closing a ledger. A broken promise is a liability. A dead man’s promises are worthless. So the universe… zeroed them out.”

But Elias knew, as he always knew, that another one would open tomorrow. And somewhere in the world, a traveler would buy a little peace of mind, not knowing that the fine print was watching. That the universe kept a ledger. And that Trawick always, always collected.

But he was alive.

“It’s not your choice.”

Elias felt a cold trickle down his spine. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, save it,” Thorne cut him off. “I know why you’re here. But you don’t know why I did it.”

Elias turned off the tablet. He looked at the compass. It pointed north now—true north, not to any claim. For the first time in a decade, it was quiet.