Chapter 21 : The Coins' Whisper
The gold coins sat on my desk, gleaming in lamplight.
I'd meant to leave them in the shipment container. Too dangerous to take, too obvious to fence, too connected to Royal interests. But somehow they'd ended up in my pocket, and somehow I'd brought them home, and somehow it was three in the morning and I was still staring at them.
They were beautiful. Three coins, roughly minted, ancient and powerful. The metal caught light in ways modern gold didn't—warmer, richer, almost alive.
[ARTIFACT DETECTED: COINS OF ZAKYNTHOS]
[CLASSIFICATION: PSYCHIC CORRUPTION DEVICE]
[HISTORICAL USE: MASS MANIPULATION, EMPIRE BUILDING]
[WARNING: EXTENDED CONTACT CAUSES PSYCHOLOGICAL DEGRADATION]
[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE CONTAINMENT]
The System's warnings flickered at the edge of my vision, but they seemed distant. Unimportant. The coins were speaking, and their voice was so much more interesting.
"Power," they whispered. "Dominion. Command."
The words weren't English, weren't any language I should understand, but meaning flowed directly into my mind. Images accompanied the whispers: armies marching, crowds kneeling, enemies broken and begging.
"The Reapers fear you not because you're strong, but because you could be stronger. We can help. We can make them worship you instead of hunt you."
My fingers traced the coins' edges. Cold metal, warm promises.
The Reapers. Fourteen days until they came for me. Fourteen days of training, preparation, alliance-building—all to reach maybe forty percent combat proficiency. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
But with the coins...
"One touch. One moment of will. Any Wesen who looks upon you will kneel. Any enemy will falter. The Royals who hunt you will become your servants."
I picked up the first coin. It fit perfectly in my palm, like it had been made for my hand specifically.
The room shifted. Colors grew sharper. Sounds crystallized. I could feel Portland spreading around me—every person, every Wesen, every potential subject waiting to be claimed.
"Yes. This is what you were meant for. Not survival. Conquest."
I reached for the second coin.
Monroe didn't knock. He never knocked anymore—some combination of the emergency key I'd given him and the Blutbad certainty that boundaries were suggestions.
"Cross? I found a replacement spring for that clock movement you liked, and—"
He stopped in the doorway.
I stood in the center of the living room, three coins in my hands, muttering words I couldn't hear myself say. The room was wrong somehow—shadows deeper than they should be, air thick with something that tasted like blood and honey.
"Put them down."
My head turned toward him. Slowly. Like something else was controlling the motion.
"Monroe." The word came out layered, my voice and something underneath it. "I was just examining—"
"Put. Them. Down."
His woge surfaced completely. Red eyes, extended features, the full Blutbad transformation I'd never seen him display voluntarily. Fear poured off him in waves my enhanced senses couldn't miss.
"He fears you," the coins whispered. "He should. Show him what you've become."
I raised my hand. The coins gleamed.
Monroe tackled me.
The impact scattered gold across the floor. I hit the ground hard, Monroe's weight pinning me, his claws digging into my shoulders as he held me down.
"Don't touch them!" His voice was raw, desperate. "Don't look at them! Close your eyes, dammit!"
The room spun. The whispers faded. Something released its grip on my consciousness like a snake uncoiling from prey it had nearly finished swallowing.
I closed my eyes.
Monroe's weight shifted. I heard him moving through the apartment—gathering the coins, I realized, by the way he cursed and the sounds of metal against cloth.
"Grandfather's stories mentioned these." His voice was steadier now, but still edged with fear. "The Coins of Zakynthos. They've toppled empires. Corrupted saints. Made monsters of better men than you."
I opened my eyes. The room looked normal again—just my apartment, just lamplight, just the aftermath of something terrible.
"How long was I—"
"Don't know. How long have you been alone with them?"
"Since I got home. Three hours, maybe."
Monroe made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "Three hours. My grandfather said some people lose themselves in three minutes. You lasted three hours. That's actually—" He shook his head. "Never mind. We need to contain these."
The coins were wrapped in a cloth now, Monroe holding the bundle at arm's length like it might bite him.
"Lead-lined container. Rosalee keeps some for dangerous artifacts." He was already moving toward the door. "You stay here. Don't follow me. Don't touch anything."
"Monroe—"
"I'll be back." The door closed behind him.
I sat on my apartment floor, surrounded by scattered papers and overturned furniture from our brief struggle. My hands were shaking. My head felt scraped empty, like something had been living inside it and left suddenly.
[STATUS UPDATE: PSYCHOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION (MINOR)]
[DURATION OF EXPOSURE: 3.2 HOURS]
[CORRUPTION LEVEL: 8%]
[RECOVERY TIME: APPROXIMATELY 24 HOURS]
[NOTE: RESISTANCE TO EXTERNAL CONTROL HIGHER THAN BASELINE]
Eight percent corruption. Three hours with artifacts that had destroyed emperors. The System's assessment of "higher than baseline" resistance felt like cold comfort.
I'd almost lost myself. Almost become a puppet for coins older than most civilizations.
And the worst part? Part of me still wanted them back.
Monroe returned an hour later with a lead-lined lockbox and a pot of chamomile tea.
"Drink this."
I took the tea. It tasted like flowers and disappointment.
"The coins are secured." He set the lockbox on my kitchen counter. "I put a secondary seal on them—something Rosalee showed me. Not perfect, but it'll help dampen the influence."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just never touch those things again." He sat across from me, exhaustion lining his face. "I knew you were different, Cross. I didn't know you were stupid."
"Neither did I."
"Those coins have corrupted kings. Literal kings. Emperors. People with armies and advisors and every protection wealth could buy." He leaned forward. "You lasted three hours alone with them. Do you understand what that means?"
"That I'm lucky?"
"That whatever you are—whatever the System made you—it's not entirely human anymore." His expression was unreadable. "Human minds break under that kind of influence. Yours bent. That's not normal."
I processed this. The implications were uncomfortable—another way I'd diverged from the person I'd been, another sign that Daniel Cross's body was becoming something else entirely.
"I thought I was immune." The admission came harder than expected. "My abilities, the System's architecture—I thought external control couldn't affect me."
"The coins aren't external control. They're seduction. They don't force you to do anything. They just make you want to." Monroe's voice softened slightly. "That's why they're dangerous. They don't break your will. They corrupt it."
"He's right."
The realization settled into my bones. The coins hadn't controlled me. They'd shown me what I wanted—power, dominion, safety through strength—and offered to help me get it. The corruption came from within.
"I need to sleep." I set down the empty tea cup. "The System says twenty-four hours for recovery."
"I'll stay." Monroe moved to the couch. "In case of relapse."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." He stretched out, closing his eyes. "But some lessons don't need words. Get some rest."
I retreated to the bedroom, leaving Monroe to his vigil. Sleep came slowly, fitfully, interrupted by whispers that might have been dreams or might have been echoes of something worse.
Morning arrived without fanfare. I woke to the smell of coffee—Monroe, apparently, had found my supply and deemed it acceptable enough to brew.
We didn't discuss the previous night. Some things were better processed silently.
The lead-lined lockbox sat on my counter, completely ordinary, completely innocuous. Inside were three coins that could destroy everything I was building.
"I'm marking this on my map," I said. "Weapons I will never use."
Monroe nodded. "Smart."
Fourteen days remained until the Reapers arrived. Fourteen days to prepare, to train, to build something strong enough to survive.
But I'd learned something important last night. Something the System couldn't quantify and the training couldn't address.
The greatest threats weren't always external. Sometimes the monster you needed to defeat was yourself.
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