Chapter 21 · The Inquisitor's Knife

"Breathe and you bleed." The scalpel kissed the hollow under my jaw and Augustus didn't even blink.

"That's better," he said. "Hands flat. On the table. Now."

"Get that off me," I said. My voice scraped. His blade was cold enough to make my teeth ache. "You want answers, you don't start by cutting my throat."

"I want the truth," he said. "And you lie so well, Sylvia. So I thought we'd skip the part where you talk me in circles."

The interrogation room was too small. Stone table, one chair, my wrists already cuffed to the iron loop. His knee pressed against mine under the table. Not an accident. He owned the space, the air, the knife. I owned nothing but the second heartbeat hammering behind my ribs.

Play dead, Cassian whispered inside my head. Not out loud. Inside. Like a wire pulled tight behind my teeth.

I didn't answer him. Couldn't. Augustus would see my eyes flick.

"Where is he?" Augustus asked. He tipped the scalpel, just enough to dent skin. A bead of blood welled and slid down. Hot. "The thing you stitched into yourself. The King you stole.