Before I could get more than a few feet, he grabbed my injured leg and hauled me across the rough obsidian ground, facedown. Pain exploded in my ankle and I almost passed out from the intensity of it, screaming.
Bits of rock dug into me everywhere I had exposed skin, my face, my arms. The fabric of my shirt rode up from the motion, skin on my belly scraping open against the rock as well as he dragged me.
He was pulling me toward the cliff edge.
I tried to twist and kick him, but he must have activated his Strength Skinscript. His grip on my ankle was like a manacle.
If I fell in the miasma I was dead.
There was no one nearby to help me, even if I called for help.
Who would come anyway, when Zevrial wasn’t speaking to me, Sarina was still injured, and my own family had disowned me?
He would kill me.
No one would know.
I shouted with all my volume anyway. “Help!”
There wasn’t enough time to gasp before I was tumbling over the edge.
Panicked, I grabbed for the edge of the cliff, digging my nails into the unrelenting rock. My nails and fingertips bled as they tore against the sudden friction. The intense and immediate weight of my body pulled my arms to their limits, straining the sockets. Every breath was fire in my lungs, he’d definitely cracked a rib.
Beneath me, the heat of miasma licked at the soles of my boots. I bent my knees up, struggling to keep my distance fromthe liquid death that simmered below. It was so close I could see it through the fog.
There wasn’t enough of a grip for me to pull myself back up. Panic dug greedy talons into my chest. Focusing entirely on Luck, I dropped my concentration on Perception.
I can’t die here. There’s still so much I haven’t done.
He studied me, the ends of his lips curving upwards in a pitiless smile. Disappearing for a moment, he returned with my bag of Starshells, tossing it over the cliff.
A small gasp of miasma sputtered up as it sank with a hissing splash. I recoiled from the backsplash. Acid brushed against the side of my boot.
The miasma ate through the edges of my boot, scalding hot. Tears wet my eyes at the searing heat and pain.
He was getting rid of any evidence I was here. I was next.
“An entire year’s supply of dust was in the warehouse you gave up the location for, then you went and stole my contact list. But it wasn’t enough. You spared Nikolach, and embarrassed my best client so publicly... I detest getting my hands dirty, but you’ve left me no alternative. The only way to undo the damage you’ve done to my reputation is to take care of things myself.”
I curled my fingers, feeling my grip slipping. The miasma beckoned me below with deadly promise.
“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t do this.”
He stood, edging the toe of his boot out until it crushed the tips of the fingers on my left hand.
I screamed. Jerking my hand away, I hung by one hand.
I can’t hang on like this!
He shifted to try to crunch the fingers on my other hand. My injured hand brushed against something at my side. Touching it was excruciating, he’d broken at least two of my fingers.
Still, I clenched my fist around the Starshell knife Instructor Garcien had gifted me. A proper, tight grip, like Zevrial had taught me. I swung my weight up, swiping the freed knife at his ankle.
Yeshar sidestepped the move with ease. I dug the knife into the hard rock with a screech before the swing came fully down again, hanging on with sheer determined grit. My knuckles were dark purple, my ankle and ribs on fire.
“I won’t die here!”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not in control here.” He kicked at the blade and my hand wrapped around it, trying to dislodge it. I clung tighter, trying to pull myself up.
