ia Ca

solute. The air is thick with

killed her to punish a lie. He doesn't care about my innocence. He only cares about his b

e ten feet by ten feet. A stone slab for a bed. Nothing else. My three-day bar

oughts. It's not the heavy bolt of the guards' keys. It'

This isn't a guard. It's

f the corridor. They slip inside, closing the door silently behind them. They aren't

ts her kept safe," he sneers. "But he didn't say we coul

cold. I knew it. This was

using the darkness as camouflage. My min

lpable force. "Nowhere to run, little Omega," the secon

ve my mind. And I have a secret. I clutch the locket at my throat, a vintage silver heirloom I have carried through both

s and focus with all my will. Dagger. Silver. Right hand.

en, impossible weight materializes in my hand

hundred training simulations, I pivot. I drop low, twisting under his arm, and drive th

ith disbelief as he looks down at the silver dagger em

e. He stares at his fallen partner, then at the s

s, taking a step back. The

This body is weak, but my technique is perfect. He's bigger, stronger, but he's panick

int high, and as he raises his knife to block

ng his knife hand, and the point of my silver dagger is at his throat. His eyes are wide with

oice a low, cold whisper th

at me. "Go t

against his skin. A tiny bead of

is shallow. The silver is doing its work, pois

You're too late," he gurgles, and a dark foam begins

eave the high‑security cell. Yet these assassins had broken in