I could barely focus, no matter how hard I tried to push through the curiosity that tugged at me; I just couldn’t stop thinking about the mysteries that haunted me.
The assassin, the Narthish knife, and the hazel green pair of eyes that burned into mine with such hatred that I didn’t think it was humanly possible.
A hatred so raw it felt like a blade pressed to my throat. Murderous and unrelenting.
I pushed a piece of roast around my plate, the fork heavy in my hand. I hadn’t eaten more than a bite; I just couldn’t. Everything I put in my mouth tasted like cardboard, or maybe my brain was too fried to process flavour.
I had never felt hunted before; it was my first, and so my focus was shot; it had been all day. Even in training, I had fumbled a basic drill, nearly let a second-year
