I cleared my throat and stepped closer to Nadya, the vial raised.
She looked at me with open resentment, but I saw a glimmer of something more there. Something which convinced me I was right.
Reluctance.
Panic.
She might’ve hid her true self all these years, but the truth serum could bare any soul.
As I tilted the vial toward her lips, she raised her leg and kicked my hand, hard enough to smash the vial in my palm.
I groaned as the glass shards sunk into my fingers, the serum greedily mixed with my blood, forming a vile, stinging concoction that seared my skin.
“You little–” Dax gripped tighter to his daggers, but didn’t move. “I can make more in a few days, you’re not getting away with this.”
Ryker rushed to my side, cradling my mangled hand in his. Despite the shock emanating off him, he gently caressed my wrist, an unspoken question in his eyes.
Did I want him to use his powers to make the pain go away?
“Please,” I mouthed, the liquid hissing as it burned.
As his power swept through me, cooling the ache and restitching my skin, his somber voice vibrated around us.
“Why did you do that, Nadya?” he asked with a forced calm.
We both stared at her, still trapped, still trying to make herself look small and pitiful.
But we all saw what she’d done.
An innocent soul would have wanted to prove itself.
Her scared gaze swept through the crowd, as if trying to search for the smallest sign of sympathy. An ally.
But she would find none.
Her closest friend had died.
Even Mrs. Thornbrew looked at her as if not recognizing the creature before her eyes, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Say something,” Ryker commanded, so much pain in his voice, the corners of my eyes stung.
Nadya’s head caved between her shoulders.
There was nowhere to hide.
Not anymore.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Ryker and I made twin gestures of rushing forward, protective instincts roaring to life.
But she wasn’t crying.
She was laughing.
Her cackle grew, smothering the shocked stillness and reverberating in the entire forest.
It didn’t sound human.
