Just who was in control here?
Pan rested a hand on Snow’s shoulder, perfectly manicured nails drumming another light rhythm against his collarbone. Jo swore she saw red at the uninvited contact. But then, at Pan’s words, she saw nothing at all.
“I get to kill one of you.”
A second of shock, of incomprehensible void, and then reality snapped back into painful focus. Unfortunately, Jo was a good couple of seconds behind everyone else.
“Snow?” Samson begged weakly as Wayne pushed a chair out of his way so hard it toppled. He didn’t even seem willing to barter for information, already spiraling into a confused and panicked rage.
“What in every circle of hell isthatsupposed to mean?” he yelled, slamming a hand down on the table. Jo felt her knees buckle, her body falling heavily back into her chair.
What was going on?
“Wayne, stop.” Eslar was obviously out of his depth, eyes frozen on the empty space in front of him, disbelieving. Chiding on autopilot. When Jo finally managed to drag her eyes away from where they’d fallen in anxious devastation into her own lap, it was first to the sight of Nico, silent and gradually shattering at her side. Then secondly, to Pan, her gaze seemingly already waiting to capture Jo’s stare.
If Jo didn’t know better, it looked like a challenge. Or maybe a dark and eager promise. Either way, the look made Jo feel sick with anger. And fear. It was like she’d known what was coming all along, and willingly stayed on the tracks.
“You’ve got one day to decide,” Pan said, lazy and indifferent as ever, as if her unspoken but obvious amusement had already long since passed. There was no time to process, no time to argue or beg or scream or cry, before she was waving over her shoulder at the room at large. “Let me know what you lovely lot come up with.”
Just as quickly as she’d doomed one of them to death, she vanished back into the halls of the mansion.
Chapter 33
Favoritism
“THIS IS NOT happening.”
Jo wasn’t entirely sure if she said the words very softly, or thought them very loudly. Either way, in the commotion of the room, they were lost.
“Get back here you rainbow haired bi—”
“Wayne, stop.” Eslar all but shouted, lunging for the man. “There’s an explanation here, I’m sure.”
“What possible explanation can there be?” Wayne roared in reply. “She didn’t seem to me like she was just having a good ol’ joshin’ at our expense.” His voice had gone thick with his usual accent, but different. . . rougher. The airs he usually put on had vanished into something more serious, and now it had come full circle into an accent that was far more authentic, a tonal quality that was more a reversion back to his roots than an homage to them.
“Kill one of our own?” Takako’s face alternated between composed, confused, and about to tear someone apart. “What is the meaning of this,leader?” The way she spat out the moniker might as well have been an insult or a challenge. Probably both.
“It’s my fault,” Nico sobbed, but Jo was the only one who heard.
“What do we do?” Samson’s small voice asked from opposite the table.
Eventually, in the whirlwind of everyone else’s slow and steady breakdowns, Jo found her feet again, still clutching Nico’s hand. “Snow!” She waited until his head jerked in her direction at the sudden shout of his name. “Say something.”
It was the verbal slap he needed. The man blinked, stunned, and then swallowed. His mouth hardened into a line and his eyes gained clarity. As Snow stood, assuming control of the now-quiet room, Jo sat.
“Pan—” He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. “Is not lying to you.”
“You’re going to let her kill one of us?” Takako asked, void of emotion.
“All this time. Were we just sheep awaiting slaughter?” Wayne snapped.
“You know that’s not the case,” Eslar replied, still clearly giving Snow the benefit of the doubt.
“Do I? What do we really know?” Wayne pushed his chair from the table, folding his arms as if to keep him from lunging at the elf. “What doyouknow? You seem awfully cool. Have you been keeping this from us to?”
“Eslar didn’t know anything,” Samson interjected.
“Of course you’d say that, you always take his side,” Wayne sneered; Samson sunk in on himself.
