Sera stared at Valerius and saw the moment he considered it not as strategy. Not as sacrifice performed beautifully before witnesses. As answer.
It moved through his face so quietly that anyone else might have missed it. The old exhaustion, the years of ruin, the shame in the first locked door, the pain of every apology that could not reverse time, the fear that the bond remained a wound no matter how carefully he learned to stand beside it. The knife offered him one clean way to make certain he would never cage her again.
By ending himself.
Sera hated the blade before she touched it. She hated her mother for making it. Then she hated herself for understanding why Mara had.
Valerius stepped forward. Sera’s hand closed around her dagger. “Do not.” He stopped.
The Thorned Moon watched,
