I sidestep.
His fist grazes my shoulder instead of connecting with my face.
Close.Too close.
He recovers fast, pivots, comes at me again with a backhand.
This one lands.
My head snaps to the side. Stars explode behind my eyes.
The copper taste floods my mouth instantly.
I spit blood onto the concrete floor.
Gabriel laughs from his perch on the crates. “Getting slow, Tavsan.”
Bunny.
The nickname Baba used to call me with love.
Gabriel uses it like a blade.
I wipe the blood from my nose with the back of my hand.
Focus.
Emir’s already moving again, thinking I’m dazed.
Big mistake.
I drop low, sweep my leg out hard.
His feet fly out from under him.
The impact when he hits the ground echoes through the warehouse.
I’m on him before he can recover.
My hand shoots to my boot, fingers wrapping around the knife handle.
One smooth motion—I pull it free and press the blade against his throat.
His pulse hammers against the steel.
“Good,” Gabriel says, standing now. He walks closer, boots heavy on concrete. “Now finish it.”
My hand steadies.
The knife presses harder.
Emir’s eyes widen. His breath comes fast, hot against my wrist.
“Do it, Ayla,” Gabriel orders. His voice is cold. Expectant.
This is the test.
This is what he’s been building to for three years. Making me strong enough to hurt.
