Cassian threw the knife at my feet.
I didn’t pick it up.
“You gonna cry, or are you gonna use it?”
The handle stared up at me like it knew I didn’t belong here. Too clean. Too untouched. Like me.
I swallowed. “This is your idea of a pep talk?”
“It’s not a talk.” He stepped back, arms crossed. “It’s a choice.”
I didn’t move.
We were in a clearing not far from the site of the ambush. The bodies were long gone—buried or burned, I didn’t ask—but the blood still lingered in the dirt, staining everything red.
Cassian had woken me before dawn with no explanation. Dragged me through the trees in silence. And now, here we were—face to face again, only this time, I wasn’t bleeding.
Yet.
“I’m not your puppet,” I muttered.
“No,” he said. “You’re still theirs.”
The words landed like a slap.
