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Everyone is here now, witnessing this, yet no one moves to stop it.

I step forward carefully. “Micah,” I whisper, “don’t do this. It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

Micah turns to Maison. Tears well up in his eyes—so much emotion behind those dark eyes, behind his steel face and the armor he always has up.

“Please, Micah, you’re not this person. You’re not a killer.”

His eyes tighten and muscles flex as he finally looks at me. His voice is rough and shaky. “He deserves to die.”

I swallow. “He does, but we are not the judge and jury. We cannot be the person he is. You’re better than that, you are better than him.”

He shakes his head and runs his free hand through his hair. “I’m not, though. I am everything he says I am.”

I let out a sob as the tears stream out of me. “Then do it for me,” I beg. “Please, don’t kill him. I need you. Please. I need you. Stay with me, don’t lose control, Micah.” I stumble toward him, placing my hand on his, wrapping my fingers around his hand with the knife.

He stiffens at my touch, but his eyes draw down to my shattered, bruised hand and the blood seeping out of me. “Micah, please.”

He closes his eyes, his lips quivering. He keeps the knife gripped firmly in his control. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Hold him down,” Micah spits out. James, Nathan, and Ollie jump to grab Ezra before he can run off.

With Ezra contained and everyone else too stunned to move, Micah steps toward Maison. I move out of the way to give them some space.

He grabs his brother’s hand and squeezes it. Maison can barely talk now; he can barely breathe. But somehow, even as he’s dying, he manages a small smile. Before he closes his eyes, he says, “Take care of her, brother.”

No, no, no.

I run to him and grab his hand. He squeezes it to let me know he’s still with me—for now. Micah crouches beside me for a moment, watching his brother as Maison gets dangerously close to taking his last breath.

Micah stands and faces the silent crowd before his eyes focus back on Ezra. “Hold out his hand,” Micah demands.

Jesus.

Nathan and James wrestle with a panicked Ezra on the ground.

Ezra’s eyes grow wide as he tries to wrestle out of their grip. He convulses in fear and slumps, as if resigning to what’s to come. I stand back, completely stunned, watching this all unfold. A sharp ache hits my chest, knowing there is nothing I can do to stop what is about to happen. The pain from my own injuries fade from what’s unfolding in front of me.

Micah walks toward Ezra, gripping his knife in one hand. With one slice and zero hesitation, Micah chops off four of Ezra’s fingers, leaving only his thumb of his right hand.

Ezra belts out a sickening scream—that damn scream when someone loses a limb. The same scream I told myself I never wanted to hear again. The same swell of nausea hits me.

More blood… so much of it spilled today.

Everyone is ghostly silent as Micah lifts his hand, gripping Ezra’s hair, pulling his face up to meet him. “If I ever see you again, I will fucking kill you.” He throws him onto the ground and kicks Ezra in the ribs.

Ezra rolls to the side, his body going completely limp—his cut off fingers resting a mere inch from his face.

Micah takes one last look at Maison, his eyes glisten. “It’s over,” he grits out, then he disappears into the dark forest. I don’t blame him for not wanting to watch his twin die.

His scream pains every ounce of my soul.

I don’t follow him.

I can’t leave Maison like this, to die alone. Plus, I don’t have the strength to move. No one’s noticed the amount of blood I am losing, and I don’t say anything. Part of me wants to die right here with Maison, to close my eyes and have this all be over. I wrap my body over top of him. I feel his breath and I squeeze him.

Jade’s hand rests on my arm.

“Give me a minute with him,” I whisper to her. “Please.”