Chapter 22 · The Bride's Verdict

The blade weighs nothing. That's the problem. Silver's supposed to be heavy, supposed to give you a second to think, but this one sits in my palm like it's been waiting for me my whole life.

Lucas doesn't open his eyes. His throat's right there, pale and exposed, and I can see his pulse—slow, steady, like he's already made peace with this. Like he knew it would end here.

"One," Cyrus says.

My hand shakes. The blade catches the chandelier light and throws it back across the hall, and I hate that. I hate that everyone can see me trembling, that they're all watching me fall apart in real time.

Lucas's lips move. No sound comes out, but I can read it. *Do it.*

Something snaps inside me. Not the kind of snap that breaks—more like a lock clicking open, the kind you didn't know was there until it's gone.

I flip the blade. Catch it by the tip.

And I drive it straight down into my own palm.

The pain's immediate, white-hot, spreading up my wrist like lightning.