Chapter 10 · The Cracking Sigil

"Don't move." I pressed the silver blade across the black pact mark on Calian's chest. "If I cut too deep, you die. If I don't cut at all, the command rune owns you."

His hand closed around my wrist. Not hard enough to break bone. Hard enough to remind me that he could.

"You always did enjoy holding a knife to my throat," he said.

"Your throat is six inches higher. Should I fix that?"

His mouth twitched, but the black lines beneath his skin pulsed again. The command sigil carved into the stone floor answered with a low, ugly hum. Every mark along the bunker walls flared blue-white.

Calian's grip tightened. "You have one chance."

"Then stop trying to crush my hand."

"I'm not trying."

The admission hit harder than it should have. His fingers were hot against my wrist, while the rest of him shook with the cold locked inside his bones. Sweat ran from his temple.