Akira snorted, turning her body fully toward her daughter. "Don't test me, child. I am not in the mood for your pathetic loyalty games."
Instead of answering, Mira did something completely unexpected. She reached into the folds of her clothing and pulled out a small, wickedly sharp kitchen knife, the kind used for small game. The metal glinted in the dim light.
Akira burst out laughing.
"Oh, you want to fight your own mother?" she hissed, mocking her. "Look at you, holding that silly little blade. Do you think that will stop me?"
Mira glanced once at her mother's cruel, triumphant eyes, then at Lara. Then she looked back at the knife in her hand.
"No," Mira said. "I know I can't win against you."
Before Akira could reply, Mira shifted the knife. She pressed the razor-sharp edge horizontally against the pale, delicate skin of her own left wrist. A bead of bright, red blood instantly welled up along the line.
