Sabine is trapped.
“No, no, no. Fuck…” I lunge forward, forgetting everything. The plan, the danger, my bindings. My right arm tears upward, and the chair holds me in place even though I’m using everything I have.
That’s when I realize it.
The chair is fused to the floor.
The man turns, grinning so wide it looks like his face is splitting.
“Well, well,” he says, turning to me. “Is that a free hand I see, Cassian? Had that tucked away all this time?”
I freeze.
My arm is out, rope dangling in bloody threads. My breath is ragged. The chair creaks beneath me.
But I’m still stuck.
He walks toward me slowly. The knife is still in his hand. The small one. The personal one. Meant for carving, not throwing.
His eyes gleam.
“God, I was hoping you'd surprise me.”
I don’t respond.
I don’t even blink.
Sabine’s eyes lock with mine. Her panic is showing now—more honest than before. There’s no performance anymore, no pretense. Just fear. And shame. And something else: regret.
She mouths something. I think it’sI’m sorry.
No.
No, no, no.
This isn’t how this ends.
The man crouches in front of me like I’m a dog.
He leans in, the knife catching the light beside his cheek.
“Here’s the deal,” he murmurs. “You’re going to sit here and watch. Eyes open. Still. Quiet. And if you so much as flinch the wrong way…”
He twists the blade slowly in his palm.
“…I’ll make you watch me cut her open. Slowly. Layer by layer. While she begs you to stop it. You’ve been doing so well all this time. Just a little more, Little Soldier. It’s about to end soon.”
I yank at my bound hand, so hard I half-expect my wrist to break. I don’t care about the bone. I care about my sister. I can’t let this bastard touch her. I won’t—
But it’s already too late.
He stands, walks over to her, and slides the knife next to her face. Snips something. A lock of her hair. He turns, places it carefully on the table, and opens a box of throwing knives.
The next few minutes feel like someone’s switched off my brain. Like I’m seeing everything but not really processing any of it.
Not until the first knife lands in Sabine’s torso.
Somewhere in the blur, his voice repeats in my head. He says he likes doing this to girls like her. That he wants their deathsto feel personal. Says she’s too beautiful to disappear like all the others no one remembers. Says he’s doing her a favor. That people will remember her exactly as she is now. At her most beautiful, with the number of knives in her body matching her favorite number.
