Page 217 of Damsel in Disguise

I could lie one more time.

Instead, I choose silence that will protect her from questions she can’t survive.

I remain where I am while she runs to me and grabs my collar, pulling me down to her height and shaking me so hard, reminding her she’s a Keinston.

She demands an explanation.

She demands to know whether any of it was real, whether any conversation, any promise, any moment we shared belonged to us or to whatever game I had been playing from the beginning.

I answer none of it.

Silence has always been my safest weapon. Today it becomes the cruelest one.

“You used me,” she yells at me, and when I still don’t speak, it goes louder. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

I can’t. Because she’s right. I saw an opportunity to take down the Triarch Dominion in her, and I used every inch of it.

The nearest object within her reach happens to be a pair of surgical shears resting beside a tray of instruments.

She grabs them without thinking.

I see the movement but make no attempt to stop it.

The metal sinks into my shoulder.

Shearing pain follows instantly, warm blood spreading beneath my shirt. I grit my teeth to stop others from seeing me as if I’m affected this much.

Nonetheless, a short breath escapes me, but I don’t pull the shears free.

The laboratory falls silent.

Ariella stares at what she has done. The anger disappears, replaced by horror.

“I…” she takes a step backwards.

She looks at me. Not for apologizing. Only because some part of her still can’t believe I’m allowing this to happen.

I spent years believing that carrying the truth alone was a punishment. Guess I was wrong.

True punishment is watching the only person who ever looked at you with trust decide that you’re exactly the monster everyone else believed you to be.

The Crown watches us with open disappointment. “What a tragic spectacle,” he says. “Years of conditioning, and all it took was one frightened girl.”

Ariella turns and tries to run out of here.

“Tch, such a defective human I thought would be the most perfect Synthète,” surprisingly, he doesn’t sound disappointed at all, but amused.

“Does it mean you’re letting her go now?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Suddenly, he doesn’t care if others see his presence when she’ll be dragged back inside. He remains standing where he is.

That’s when I pull out the shears with a loud grunt and throw them aside. It clashes against some beakers—unfortunately non-flammable because the room hasn’t caught fire yet.

She reaches the laboratory door and opens it with extra force.

Before she can take three steps, a guard stationed outside catches her.