Watching.
Weighing.
Roxy hasn’t raised a weapon.
Hasn’t threatened.
Hasn’t begged.
And in doing so, she’s pulled the floor out from under Marj’s performance.
Because there’s no fight.
No defiance.
No bloodlust to justify the spectacle.
Just a woman standing unarmed and unafraid.
Marj inhales slowly.
Then she smiles.
But it’s different now. Tighter. Controlled.
“You know what?” she says, voice carrying clearly across the yard. “I changed my mind.”
Confusion ripples outward.
The guard with the blade hesitates.
Marj turns to him sharply. “Cut him down.”
The crowd gasps.
The blade slices through the chain at my wrists. The sudden release nearly sends me to my knees, but I catch myself, shoulders burning as blood rushes back in full force.
“What are you doing?” someone shouts from the back.
Marj raises both hands.
“We withdraw,” she announces. “Effective immediately. Hooves pull out of Kaerva. We’ve got bigger horizons to chase than babysitting desert towns.”
A stunned murmur surges.
She steps closer to me, lowering her voice so only I can hear.
“Don’t mistake this for mercy,” she says softly. “Legends have long memories. And I don’t forget debts.”
She straightens and addresses the crowd again.
“The Butcher isn’t worth the bullets. Not today.”
The platform empties in a flurry of motion—guards moving, officers barking new orders, confusion spreading like spilled ink.
I stand there, wrists free, trying to reconcile what just happened.
No blood.
