I crouched slowly, one hand dragging the hem of my robe up to keep it from soaking in the filth. Not that it really mattered—blood had already kissed the silk. And the bottom of it was stained from the corridor.
But it felt like a ritual. A final, mocking bit of civility before I joined the savagery.
The man's eyes followed me now.
They were swollen and crusted, one nearly closed from swelling, but they tracked my every movement as I knelt in front of him.
There was pain there.
Good.
But there was something else, too. Something that looked almost like curiosity. As if he couldn't quite figure out what I was.
Woman? Weapon?
I didn't feel the need to explain myself.
Instead, I smiled—slow and soft. Not the seductive kind. The kind children give when they pluck wings from butterflies and want you to watch.
