Slight fractures. His mouth tightening, the shadow of his jaw darkening—
But his stare sweeps over me.
Like he’s considering my entire silhouette, shoulders to legs, hands to—
Fucker.
He’s reading me.
Sifting through the deafening roar of my rage and pain—to sort out the sounds and figure out if I’m telling the truth.
Something in me snaps.
The torch slips from my grip as I lunge at him.
And my hands come smacking into his chest.
He doesn’t move an inch.
Like his boots are rooted to the earth, and his body is pure stone, he doesn’t even sway from the impact.
My wrists ache—immediately.
But that doesn’t stop me.
I’m unravelling.
Something hasn’t just snapped in me.
It left me completely, and I’m suddenly shoving him again and again and again.
A guttural sound rises in me.
Like everything, every single fucking thing, that I’ve locked in the vault is breaking free—like Mika sauntered into my head, used an elegant key, and unlocked the door.
Now, a feral rage rushes through me—and tightens my hands into fists.
I throw the hits right at his chest.
Not little punches either.
The kind that I’ve thrown before at the faces of grown ass men. Hard enough to draw blood—every fucking time.
But still, Samick is unmovable.
Standing in the border of darkness and my fallen torchlight, he looks down at me, sort of curious, sort of confused.
And his eyes are starting to pale.
With each hit, every sudden ache along my knuckles and finger bones, more and more frost splinters over his irises, until his eyes are lace.
Darkness lashes over his stony face—but a muscle feathers in his jaw before my next punch is whacked off-course.
He smacks my arm aside.
The force of it throws me off balance and into the tree, boots slipping over foliage.
Rough bark scrapes over my cheek.
