He shoves off me abruptly, the absence of his body leaving me unsteady. He puts distance between us, running a hand over his jaw as though irritated that he had to get that close at all.
“You’re clearly trustworthy,” I mutter, rubbing my sore neck as he tosses his knife up and catches it with his other hand. The motion is casual, dangerously casual.
“I haven’t hurt you,” he says.
My eyes trace the red marks on my wrists, the heat still lingering on my throat. “Not yet.”
I squat to gather the fallen bottles, hands shaking more from frustration than fear. The classroom feels too small.
Ares watches me in silence, then steps closer, his shadow spilling over the chalk-marked floor.
“We both know you want him dead,” he says. “And he has no idea I know where you are. Which means you still have the advantage.”
I stiffen.
“You know killing him is the only way you’ll protect your friends,” Ares continues. His eyes flick to my back, where the scars live. “Take it from someone who felt his wrath just as you have. Scars are only the surface of what he’s willing to do.”
My breath shakes at the mention of my friends. At the way he saysyour friends.
“And if I… accept the deal?” My voice is barely above a breath.
“Then you learn to harness your magic,” he says simply. “I’ll help you. They can learn too, if they stop trying to kill me. I don’t take kindly to people trying to kill me.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t.”
He lifts the knife again, not toward me, but toward his own palm.
The blade slices through his skin with practiced ease, crimson rushing to the surface. He doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.
“But you’re going to have to if this is going to work.”
He extends his bleeding hand toward me, the knife glinting between our palms. His expression is carved from stone.
“Agree by blood,” he says quietly, “and I’ll help you do whatever it takes to kill your father and keep your friends safe.”
The room feels impossibly still.
His blood darkens the steel.
My heartbeat thunders.
I think of Sebastian’s soft freckles, the way he reaches for me in the night when nightmares choke the air out of my lungs.
Liam’s laugh, warm and bright.
Theo’s gentle hands.
Their loyalty. Their faith. Their lives.
My palm trembles as I take the knife.
I drag the blade across my skin.
It burns.
Stings.
