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“I have a solution,” Oz whispered, eyes shining. The scalpel pressed against the corner of my lips. “Want to hear it?”

No. “Yes.” It was hard to say that word with the razor-sharp blade resting there.

“You can only tell lies if you have a tongue to do it with.”

The words took too long to sink in, Oz already behind me, forearm clamped across my throat. The blade slid into my mouth, cold and sharp, ice spreading through me. “Don’t!” I croaked.

He mistook it for consent, pushing deeper, pressing against the root of my tongue. I went still. Stiller than I’d ever been. Every fiber of my being wanted to struggle. But if I did, I’d make things worse. If such a thing were possible.

“One neat slice,” he crooned. “You’ll barely feel it. And then everything will be hunky-dory and we’ll be friends. You can give me your blood. And you’ll never be able to tell lies again.”

I closed my eyes as tears leaked from them. Tears of frustration at the position I’d found myself in when I was usually the one in control. Tears of grief for what I was about to lose.

Oz readjusted his grip, making a little humming sound of concentration as the blade slid deeper. If this was karma finally coming to call, then I wished it had given more warning, and it weren’t such a cruel mistress. I might have lied and cheated, but I’d never killed anyone. Not directly, anyway.

The scalpel bit, a metallic tang flooding my mouth. A sound tore from my throat. Something more animal than human.

“Shhhhh,” Oz said. “Hold still.”

I couldn’t. Not with blind panic taking over. What if this was the last sound I ever made? Could you make sounds without a tongue?

“Let him go.”

The words were like something from a fever dream, the presence of a third voice making no sense. I opened my eyes to Keaton standing there, crossbow leveled at Oz’s head. Keaton, who was supposed to be miles away getting on with his life. Keaton, who was mad enough at me that rescue shouldn’t have occurred to him. Or if it had, he should have dismissed it immediately. Yet, here he was. Handsome. Fierce.

“Let. Him. Go,” he repeated. The blade was still in my mouth, my jaw held in a pincer grip. I wanted to ask why, to thank him, to warn him, but the blade silenced me. Most of all, I wanted to tell him that if he carried through with his threat that I’d likely lose my tongue, anyway.

“You won’t shoot,” Oz said calmly. “It’s too risky.” He gave a little chuckle. “It seems we’re at something of an impasse.”

My brain screamed scalpel, scalpel, scalpel! But I forced my gaze sideways, urging Keaton toward the cage. He understood, crossing the lab and shifting his aim to the snarling figure inside. He might not know Oz’s reasons for keeping his dad close, but he knew he was important to him. “How about this?” Keaton said. “Let him go, or I put a bolt through Daddy’s head? Am I speaking your language now?”

“You wouldn’t.” For the first time, Oz’s voice cracked.

“Five.”

“My father’s done nothing to you.”

“Four.”

My neck was cramping, the position painful. I told myself to bear it for a little while longer, that now would be the worst time to move.

“Three.”

“I’m not killing him. Just cutting his lying tongue out.”

Keaton gave a humorless laugh. “Been making friends, I see, August. I can’t leave you alone for two minutes. Oh, and two.”

“August!” Oz blinked. “Who’s August?”

I glared daggers at Keaton. Way to wind up the guy who had a scalpel in my mouth.

“One,” Keaton said. “Say goodbye to Daddy.”

“No! Wait.” Oz shoved me away so hard I crashed to the floor on all fours, coughing blood. Shaking, I probed inside my mouth. I had a cut, but everything remained attached. Relief had me almost saying a prayer.

Oz stalked toward Keaton, fury radiating off him.

“Do it,” I rasped. “He’s dangerous.”