In my resume there was one word: “fixer.”
I solved problems. Finally.
Until one of them decided me—betrayed me, killed me, and closed the question.
I open my eyes—new employer. An ancient deity. The contract is simple: my life in exchange for my pleasure. I laughed—what other pleasure? Perfect deal.
The social package is modest: conditional immortality, strange abilities, and a cult in a state of near collapse.
Now I’m the Lutyoyar in Severgrad—a city run by smug aristocrats of the Crow lineage.
My plan? Do an audit.
They think they’re hunting a stranger.
They’re wrong.
I’m not prey. I’m an auditor of higher powers—and in my report, their clan is listed as the biggest line item of expenses.