Chapter 18 · I do when you're holding a knife to my throat

"I do when you're holding a knife to my throat."

"You're enjoying the power trip."

"You're on top of me with a weapon. Trust me, I know who's winning."

His knee pressed against my wrist. Not enough to hurt. Enough to stop the blade.

The contact sent another pulse through the link. His pain slammed into me. The ruined core. The fear he refused to name. The image of white restraints closing around my arms while League officers called me a traitor.

He had seen it too.

He had stood there.

"You watched them take me," I said.

Julian's jaw locked. "I was nineteen."

"You wore the League crest."

"I didn't know what they were doing."

"You didn't ask."

"I did. They lied."

"And you believed them."

"I believed everyone until they put me in that chair."

The words came out raw. Too honest. His grip faltered for half a second.

I used it.

I slammed my forehead into his.

Julian swore and rolled off me. I tore my arm free and scrambled backward, the knife still in my hand.

"That was dirty," he said, touching his brow.

"You survived. Try not to celebrate.