Ana's POV
Aileen didn't catch the sound at the door.
Her focus burned into my face, pure rage twisting her features.
She stared at the casts wrapped around my arms and legs, then let out a bitter laugh. A knife appeared in her hand, blade gleaming as she aimed it toward my uninjured ankle.
She wanted to destroy what was left of me.
The knife lifted, ready to strike, but someone's grip locked around her wrist before the blade could fall.
The pressure was brutal—I could almost hear bones grinding.
Aileen's scream pierced the air, her face draining of color.
Her fingers went slack. The knife clattered to the floor.
Morris flung her aside like she weighed nothing, sending her crashing to the ground.
Then he was beside me, head bent close, worry etched in every line of his face. "You hurt?"
I shook my head. "Perfect timing. She was about to—" I gestured toward Aileen sprawled on the tiles.
Relief seemed to pour out of him before he turned toward her.
