"Well?" the scarred leader called, impatience edging into his voice. "What's it to be? The easy way or the hard way?"
One of the bandits, a stocky man with arms covered in crude tattoos, stepped forward, shoving Lyra roughly. "I say we just take it now. They're half-dead already."
Lyra didn't stumble. She held her ground, green eyes flashing with sudden, cold fury. "Touch me again and you'll lose that hand."
The tattooed man laughed, looking to his companions for appreciation of the joke. "Hear that? The little girl's got—"
Lyra's knife appeared at his throat, the movement so swift Apollo barely saw it happen. "I am not," she said, her voice deadly quiet, "a little girl."
Tension crackled through the clearing. The other bandits raised their weapons, ready to strike. Renna had her knife out too, standing back-to-back with Lyra in silent solidarity.
"Kill her," the scarred leader said casually, as if ordering a drink.
