Chapter 8 · You're Not a Kash

The knife is cold. That's the first thing Rona notices—not the fall she just survived, not the metal grating digging into her knees, not even Ghost's breath on her neck. Just the blade. Cold and sharp and perfectly still against her pulse.

"Don't move."

Rona freezes. Her ribs are screaming from the drop and her hands are scraped raw but she doesn't move. Can't move. Ghost's other arm is locked around her chest and the woman smells like smoke and old blood and something bitter Rona can't name.

"You followed me down." Ghost's voice is flat. No question mark. "Stupid."

"Dax—" Rona starts.

The knife digs in. Not breaking skin. Just a reminder. "Dax sold you out. I watched. You think I didn't see him shove you at your own hunters?"

Rona's throat tightens. She remembers. Dax's hand on her shoulder. His voice, loud enough for everyone to hear. *Trash doesn't outlive talent.*

"So why'd you run?" Ghost pulls back just enough that Rona can breathe. The knife stays put. "You got a clan. A name. You could've stayed up there and played the victim."

"They want me dead."

"Yeah." Ghost laughs. It's not a nice sound. "Join the club."