Chapter 9 · Echoes of a Lie

"Don't move. Don't even breathe," Dax snapped.

His hand slammed into the wall right next to my ear. Hard.

I was pinned. The cold stone of the observatory ruins bit into my shoulder blades, but the heat coming off him was worse. He was too close. I could smell old leather and ozone—the sharp scent of a storm about to break. His eyes weren't just searching mine; they were dissecting me.

"I didn't do it," I whispered. My voice cracked. "Dax, I swear to God, I wasn't even in this district last night."

"The dying man said you were," he countered. His voice was a low, dangerous vibrate. He leaned in, his chest brushing mine with every shallow breath I took. "And the memory you just pulled? The one where you're smiling while you slide a blade into his ribs? That didn't look like a hallucination, Mara."

I tried to shove him back. He didn't budge. He was a wall of muscle and suspicion.

"It was a fake! A projection!" I snarled. "I don't remember it because I didn't do it!"

"Liar."

He breathed the word like a caress. It was ten times more terrifying than a shout.