Chapter 9 · His Scent on the Murder Blade

"Don't touch that."

Kael's hand closed over mine before I could pick up the blade. His palm was hot enough to burn through the thin cotton of my sleeve. I didn't pull back. I twisted my wrist and dragged the knife closer.

"Let go," I said.

"Lena—"

"Let. Go."

His fingers tightened for half a second. Then he released me and stepped back. Not far. Just enough that I could still feel the heat coming off him.

The blade lay on the stone table between us. It was old. The kind of old that made you think of locked boxes and people who didn't want questions. The handle was wrapped in cracked leather, stained dark at the base. The metal had a weird shine to it, like someone had cleaned it recently but couldn't get the tarnish out of the grooves.

I'd seen it before. In a photo my mom kept hidden inside her recipe journal.