In my résumé there was one word: “fixer.”
I solved problems. Once and for all.
Until one of them decided me—betrayed, killed, and closed the issue.
I open my eyes—new employer. An ancient deity. The contract is simple: my life in exchange for my joy. I laughed—what kind of joy? The deal is perfect.
The social package is modest: conditional immortality, strange abilities, and a cult in a half-destroyed state.
Now I’m Лютояр in Северграде—a city where everything is run by self-satisfied aristocrats from the House of Voron.
My plan? Do a revision.
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.