Something pulls inside me,
A feeling of pride mixed with fear.
The feeling is not mine.
It is hers.
Kathera’s.
I try to breathe, to steady myself.
No. She cannot take me.
She will not.
She does not want to.
I pull my knife out of the man’s head and wipe it on my pants,
The hilt glinted like the only familiar thing left in this world.
When I look up, I see Cyrus near the campfire, clutching his papers, scribbling as if writing fast enough will make sense of what just happened.
Ami stands behind him, steady and calm, a slight smile tugging at her mouth, as if she had been expecting this.
My heart aches when I see Castor standing in front of Briar, shielding her like he thinks I might attack them.
But Briar…
Briar is not afraid.
She looks excited.
Proud, even.
Oliver, though.
Oliver looks at me like he has seen a ghost.
Like, he is finally seeing what I really am.
I raise my hands, palms open.
“Sorry.”
My cheeks burn.
Damn it. Why do I always kill first and ask questions later?
I wish I were good.
Something inside me,
a small voice,
Soft and warm and ancient.
Kathera.
I swallow hard as she whispers,
You are spectacular.
I just killed a man, I say — not aloud, but in the space inside my mind where she feels closest.
You just survived an attack with the precision of a warrior.
Her certainty has no cracks. No doubt.
All I do is survive.
Then let me show you how to thrive.
Her voice is not loud, but it sends chills through me,
Like fate just took me by the throat.