Aldric had thirty seconds to make a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Greaves was moving toward them—not running, not rushing, just walking with the calm certainty of a man who'd done this before. Many times before. The cleaver in his hand caught the morning light. Behind him, his pack lay open, revealing more tools. Knives. Hooks. Coils of rope. The professional equipment of someone who'd turned butchery into a science.
The mandoline on his hip glowed red, pulsing in rhythm with Marron's screams.
She was still tied to the tree, but the tree was failing. The trunk had cracked when she'd pulled against it with joy-fueled strength. Roots were tearing from the earth. In another minute, maybe less, the whole thing would topple, and Marron would be free.
Free to run to Greaves. Free to give him the Blade. Free to complete the reunion that was tearing her apart from the inside.
