Chapter 27 · Who Gets the Knife

"You signed my death date?"

Daniel's hand was still bleeding. The cut across his palm wouldn't close, and every time he moved his fingers, fresh blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. The boards drank it. They always did.

"Leah, listen—"

"No." I stepped back, and the wall behind me pulsed. Warm. Like skin. "You cut yourself to save me, and now I'm bleeding. So what the hell did you actually do?"

He looked at Elsie, then at the water pooling around our feet. My mother's shape was still there, half-risen, one arm pointing at him. The finger didn't waver.

"The pact doesn't let you erase a name," he said. "It transfers the debt."

"To you."

"To whoever holds the knife."

I looked down. My palm was split open, same place as his. Blood ran down my wrist and into the water, and the house hummed. Satisfied. Like it had been waiting for this.

"So you didn't save me," I said. "You just made me the one holding the blade."

"I thought if I took it first—"

"You thought wrong.