“Kill him, and I kill her,” Jack threatens back.
Carrson doesn’t react. “Then we both win or we both lose.” He pauses, lets that sink in, then adds, “The choice seems clear to me.”
Jack shifts behind me, his weight rolling forward like he might lunge for Carrson, then back again, like he’s calculating how fast he could take me and run.
Carrson doesn’t waver. His arm stays raised, his palm open.
“How do I know?” Jack says finally. “That you won’t kill him anyway.”
Carrson’s quiet for a minute, considering that. Before he answers, his eyes go to me. The emotion I see there, the devotion, makes my throat go tight.
“Because I’m not willing to risk her,” he answers. “I kill Jackson, then you kill Becky. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, five years from now.”
He focuses back on Jack. “Make no mistake. I graduate in two years, and then I’m coming for you. Ashfords made The Order. You’re just borrowing it for now. I’ll take back what’s mine. But I won’t kill your child to get it.” The knife presses into Jackson’s neck, the threat clear. “Not unless you make me.”
Jack’s arm pulls close, crushing my windpipe in a final, desperate show of force. A reminder to Carrson and me that this isn’t over. Then he lets go, and I stumble forward. My hands fly to my neck, running over tender, bruised skin. I have one second of freedom, then Jack’s hand is back. It goes around my upper arm, and he hauls me over to Carrson.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to done,” Jack grumbles. “We don’t have the right equipment. The box. There should be witnesses. Going to have to collect—”
“Enough,” Carrson barks. “Finish it.”
We’ve reached Carrson now. Jack releases my arm and shoves me forward. Then his hand is on my shoulder, forcing me to my knees. I move into position next to Carrson while Jack unsheathes the knife. It gleams in the moonlight, sharp tipped. The cross of The Order, the same symbol that’s branded onto Carrson’s shoulder, is etched on the blade, and the handle is black.
“Put your hand near mine,” Carrson tells me, his eyes moving between me and the knife he still holds to Jackson’s neck.
I do as he asks, hovering my hand over his. Close enough that I can feel the heat rising from his skin.
I almost jump when Jack steps closer and explains, “I’ll put the blade between your hands. Clasp them together as tight as you can.” He looks at me. “Carrson will speak; he knows what to say. You repeat. Then I’ll pull the knife out quickly, and it’ll cut your palms. Press them together. Got it?”
I nod, my nerves kicking. This is it. The thing I’ve been asking Carrson to give me for weeks. I thought I’d be excited, happy, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to feel.
All I know is that this changes everything.
There’s no walking this back. No undoing it.
Whoever I am right now, I won’t be after this.
My life will always be tethered to Carrson. And to The Order.
Carrson’s eyes find mine, his brows lifting just slightly, not quite a question but close enough that I understand it anyway.
Are you sure?
He’s leaving the choice to me.
Ever since Remi died, I’ve been looking for a home. A place to belong. I found it in Carrson. He never tries to make me small or slow me down. Instead, he meets me, matches me, sees the world the same way I do. Together we’ll be stronger. Untouchable.
I give him back a single, quick nod. Certainty locking into place.
I’m sure.
That’s all he needs.
“Do it,” Carrson tells Jack, who moves forward and places the blade between our hands.
The clearing narrows down to the crunch of leaves under my knees, the presence of Jack behind me, Jackson unconscious on the ground. And, most of all, the cold steel and warm flesh I hold in my hand.
“Press your hands together.” Jack’s eyes are fixed on the knife.
