Tristan's muscles locked the moment he felt the blade's edge against his ribs. The ocean churned around them, waves slapping against his back as he kept Rosalind afloat.
His mind raced. She wouldn’t. Not now. Not after everything—
But when he looked into her eyes, there was no hesitation.
"Let me go, Tristan," Rosalind murmured, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "Or I will make you."
A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "You’re really willing to stab me in the middle of the damn ocean?"
She didn’t answer. Her grip on the dagger—where the hell had she even hidden it?—remained steady.
Above them, Nicholas Rivera was still watching from the ship’s railing, his smirk unwavering. Emry stood beside him, her hands clenched into fists, her expression unreadable.
