“You can teleport or whatever. You’ll know if something happens to me, right?”
My throat tightens.
It’s not a guarantee. Not even close. If she comes back while I’m gone, he won’t stand a chance anyway.
But if I don’t take the dagger, chances are, none of us will.
So I nod, even though every part of me wants to argue.
And I take it.
The moment my hand wraps around the hilt, something ignites—sharp, electric, wrong and right all at once.
It’s notjusta blade.
It’s a piece of a scythe after all. Not mine, but close enough that whatever Reaper magic is sealed inside it… reaches for me.
And I reach back.
For a second, I feel it, that familiar hum, that cold, impossible energy I just ran out of. It flickers through my veins like a second heartbeat.
It’s not much. But it’s something.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ve got it.”
Cassian doesn’t answer. He’s already lifting his mother, holding her like she weighs nothing, even though he’s clearly in pain. He pauses at the door, looking back at me.
“I’ll come back,” he says roughly.
“You better,” I murmur.
He disappears down the hall.
I take one last look around the room, grip tightening on the dagger.
The wraith is somewhere in these walls.
Guess what, bitch?
I’m done running.
Time to hunt you down.
“Why the long face?” the man asks as he sets a metal bowl of white rice on the small table in front of me. “You’re finally going to see your sister face to face today. You should be happy.”
I’ve been sitting here for what feels like forever, tied up and forced to endure his narcissistic brand of psychological torture without a single break.
He’s not just a deviant, he’s clearly an insomniac, too. He can’t seem to relax unless he’s drugged out of his mind. He’s been carrying a pill bottle in his pocket this whole time, flipping the lid open and shut whenever he runs out of things to say to me.
I’m not playing along anymore. I’ve stretched my patience to the breaking point, hoping that if I cooperated, Sabine might get better treatment if it ever came to that. But I’m human. I can’t keep staring into the eyes of her predator and pretend I’m okay. I can’t smile like some trained puppet.
I just can’t.
Every time he speaks, I want to rip the crust of the earth apart and bring this entire basement down with it, even if it means dying right here, with him.
And the fact that he bothered to say “today” means I’ve probably been here at least two days. Maybe more. How would I know? There are no windows, no clocks. Just his voice, the rattle of that goddamn pill bottle, and the sick-sweet smell of mold hanging in the air.
“Happy?” I echo, barely managing to lift an eyebrow. “Are you out of your mind?”
