Her face goes pale.
"Don't leave me here in the dark," she says. "Please."
I ignore her and turn toward the door.
"Please."
I shake my head. "You don't get to make requests," I say over my shoulder.
My hand reaches the door and a sound behind me makes every instinct ignite.
A sudden commotion. A sharp grunt. The scrape of the chair.
I spin around just in time to see Zaria lunge at Tommy's back.
He's bent over, holding the knife he'd just used to cut her bindings, and she slams into him with a feral snarl. Her fingers claw up his sleeve, his vest, then she rips his sidearm free from the holster.
"Son of a bitch!" Tommy shouts, twisting, but she's already got his gun.
I pivot, reaching for my weapon, expecting her to aim at him or at me, but instead she does the unthinkable.
She swings the gun up and jams the barrel against her own temple. Her hand is shaking so badly the gun taps against her skin.
"DON'T PUT ME IN THE DARK!" she screams so loud it's almost deafening.
I don't think. I just move, instinct taking over.
I run at her fast and swing my arm, chopping her wrist sideways.
BANG.
The gun fires and the ceiling explodes with dust and plaster raining down as I tackle her, driving her to the floor, pinning herwrists above her head. I wrestle the gun out of her hands and toss it aside.
She screams as she fights me, but it's not to escape or even attack me.
She fights to get the gun back, to press it against her skull again.
"Let me go," she sobs, thrashing beneath me. "Let me, please, just let me..."
"What the fuck are you doing?" I yell, my weight holding her down as she twists like a trapped animal.
"I can't, I can't be in the dark." Her voice breaks into a wail. "Please don't leave me in the dark, please..."
Her eyes look different. It's as if she’s not here.
She’s somewhere else, some forest, some ritual, some fire, some punishment that lives behind her every thought.
She's not an assassin or spy or some plant from Shadowharbor.
She's a broken animal.
She wasn’t trying to kill me or escape. She was trying to finish what her father began.
And keeping her in this basement is useless. She'll either die of stress or try this again, and next time, I might not be fast enough.
Her sobs are wrecking her, her whole body shaking so hard I can feel it through my body where I'm pinning her down. She's whispering now, the words tumbling out too fast to follow.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
