Ashterion’s lungs locked.
Gods.
Of course. Of fucking course.
If Isara was truly becoming his pet, she would do it herself. She wouldpleasehim. Serve him. Bleed in his place. But if she still saw him as a monster, if she still believed that all he was good for was death, then she’d hand him the blade. And let him do what monsters do.
Ashterion didn’t care about the consequences anymore. Didn’t care what Xyliria would do.
Please, pick me. Let it be me.
He looked at her, looked hard, locking eyes across the space between them.
Pick me, he begged silently.Don’t let this stain you. My soul is already gone. Let me carry this one.
His mouth opened. He didn’t know what he was going to say. Didn’t matter.
Because the moment air touched his tongue, Xyliria’s magic tore up his spine. He choked on it, on the fire, the burn, the unmaking.
Centuries of discipline locked him in place. Centuries of pain taught him how to make silence out of torment.
He snapped his mouth shut.
Xyliria was all false concern. “Oh, my love. No need to speak. It’s her choice to make, after all.”
Isara looked moments from collapse. Her hands were shaking. Her lips bloodless. Her eyes wide and hollow, flicking between Ashterion and the girl as if either could save her.
Neither could.
Finally, she spoke. Barely more than a whisper.
“I’ll do it.”
No.
His hands twitched where they rested against the armrest. He wanted to stand. To cross the distance between them. To rip the blade from her hands before it could ever touch that girl’s skin.
He wanted to scream at her.Let me do it. Let me be the monster.
But he just watched her walk toward the girl. Watched her take the blade.
Watched her prepare to tear apart her own soul.
The blade looked heavier in her hands now. Or maybe it was her body that had gone slack. Sagging beneath the weight of what she was about to do.
Isara moved slowly. Her fingers curled tighter around the hilt with every pace forward.
The girl was screaming.
“Please,” she cried. “I have a little brother. And a sister. They need me—please, they don’t have anyone else. My mother’s waiting. Please, she’ll be so scared. Please, don’t do this?—”
Something snapped in Ashterion’s chest.
The girl sobbed harder when Isara knelt beside her.
“I’m sorry,” Isara whispered. And gods, her voice was already broken. “I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down her face now, silent and steady.
She reached out with one trembling hand and cupped the girl’s cheek. The girl flinched but didn’t pull away. There was no more room to run.
