He stops. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Behind me, I hear a sound from Vale that’s almost a laugh, except it’s too full of teeth. Saint murmurs something under his breath in that ruined prayer tone of his. It sounds like a benediction and a curse twisted together.
Marcus’s eyes are wide now. His pulse is visible in his throat, stuttering. “Listen to me,” he breathes. “Ember. Listen to me. You’re angry. I understand that. I do. You’re angry because Owen— because what happened to your brother— but I didn’t sign off on that. That wasn’tme. You can’t pin that on—”
“Oh,” I whisper, and something in me laughs, honest and cold. “Oh,Marcus. You’re still so sure you’re not in this.”
He freezes.
“Owen spent five years thinking he failed me,” I say softly. “Five. Years. You know that? Five years walking around with that guilt in his bones like shrapnel. Five years tearing himself apart because he thought he hadn’t protected me. Five years not sleeping. Five years drinking like poison was a cure. Five years thinking that if he’d just been faster, smarter, colder, I would’ve been okay, that I wouldn’t—”
My throat tightens. I don’t let it stop me.
“Five years,” I continue, “until he died with that in his mouth instead of peace. You did that. You let that happen. You watched me disappear and him unravel and you said nothing because it was easier for you. You didn’t have to touch me. You killed me anyway.”
Marcus shakes his head frantically. “No—no, I didn’t kill anyone. You’re alive. You’re fine—”
“I am notfine,” I say, and it comes out almost gentle. “Look at me.” I reach out and take his chin in my hand. His skin is clammy under my fingers.
“Look,” I whisper. “Look at whatyoubuilt. Look at what you left behind in the dark and thought would rot quietly.”
He looks. And I watch the realization land in his eyes. For the first time, he finally understands he’s not walking out of this room.
Good.
“I’m not going to beg you,” I say. “I’m not going to ask you why. I don’t care why. I’m not going to scream. You don’t get to make me scream ever again. I’m not going to cry for you. I’m not going to carry this for you anymore. This isn’t about you.”
He’s shaking, breath stuttering with every passing second.
“This,” I say, and my voice goes quiet enough that even the rain seems to lean in for it, “is aboutme.”
I let him go. And just like that, I feel it — thatclick. That internal shift. The last thread of something old snapping clean.
I used to think the moment I broke was the night I first walked into a handler’s office shaking and was told to “be smart.” Or when Owen stopped looking me in the eye. Or even the moment he died and I believed, for three fucking years, that it was my fault.
I waswrong.
Thisis the break—the line. This is where I stop being something they did to me, and start being something I chose.
Rook places a knife in my hand, and I glance at up him briefly, grateful for the way he gives me agency. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. It’s the action that matters most.
I lean closer to Marcus and cut with careful precision, taking my time—making it go even slower. His screams are delicious in my ears, sending a wave of euphoria through me. I slice in every spot meant to disable but not bleed out quickly. “Please, Ember!” he cries.
I ignore him, continuing with my carefully planned revenge. I take and take until he slumps over, passing out before the fun has even really begun.Such a waste.
“Well, that’s…disappointing,” Vale mutters under his breath, and my head darts toward the sound. I turn, taking them all in.
“Isn’t it?” Rook asks.
Wraith just shakes his head.
“Shall I wake him again?” Rook asks me, clearly displeased with the turn of events.
I think about it for several moments, remembering all the times he hurt me. I’ve caused him pain. I’ve exacted some kind of revenge, and he will not leave with his life. The decision is instantaneous.
“Get rid of him.”
“With pleasure,” he murmurs, voice low, threaded with equal parts pride and desire.
Rook doesn’t waste a single second, yanking Marcus up by the head and slicing clean across his throat. Blood sprays, and Marcus gurgles, choking on every bit of it. I watch for every second. Every single moment that he fights for his breath. In the end… he goes quiet. That’s all I’ll remember of him.
