The whip lashed again, tearing Kael's back open. Blood ran hot down his skin. He staggered but didn't fall.
Rourke's grin faltered. He had seen fear in every man he broke, but this—this was something else.
The slaves whispered. Their voices spread like sparks: "He stood… He stood…"
Kael's body screamed with pain, his mind still torn between the rope's promise and the pit's memory. But he planted his feet and looked Rourke in the eye.
"I will not die for you," he growled. "And I will not die by my own hand."
The words echoed, heavy, undeniable. His despair cracked wide open, light pouring through.
The rope was still waiting in the shack. But for the first time, Kael no longer wanted it.
He had chosen.