Chapter 17 · Forbidden Touch

"Stop struggling, or I'll snap your wrist right here."

Not Caine. Not Silas. This voice was a rasp—cold, dry, like sandpaper on bone.

Before I could scream, a heavy hand slammed over my mouth. My head hit the damp stone wall with a crack. The air tasted of mildew and something metallic. Blood.

I thrashed, the red silk of my dress snagging on the rough masonry. I tried to trigger the system, to pull any talent I'd stolen, but a searing spike of pain shot through my neck.

A needle. A dampening needle jammed straight into my carotid.

The interface in my vision flickered, flashed a violent crimson, and went dead.

"The little thief lost her voice," the man hissed. He was lean, draped in charcoal leather that bled into the shadows. He didn't want me dead—not yet. He wanted a prize. "Caine said you were hiding a gift. A forbidden one. Let's see how much you're willing to bleed for it."

I clawed at his arm, nails digging into leather. I wasn't going back to being a victim. Not after the execution.