"EVERLY!!!"
Sylas' scream could've shattered glass as he watched the knife sink into Everly's neck. Even though she'd dodged at the last second, the blade still caught her—blood trickling down her collar.
The assassin released her grip and yanked the knife back, frowning. Something felt... wrong. There wasn't enough blood. The resistance felt off—not like stabbing human flesh at all. Despite Everly now clutching her neck, swaying dramatically like she was about to faint, the assassin's instincts screamed danger.
Her eyes narrowed on Everly's high turtleneck collar. "You... are you wearing something under there?"
Everly had already begun her Oscar-worthy death performance—knees buckling, hand pressed to her throat. Even Sylas scrambled to his feet to catch her.
But then Everly stopped mid-collapse and glared at the assassin with genuine annoyance.
