She ripped it free, her arm snapping back in one fluid motion, every muscle in her body coiling for the throw.

Her eyes met Mira's across the room.

Her sister. Her 'reason' for everything.

And this bitch was going to take her away.

Rage—pure, primal, 'invisible' rage that had been simmering under Kaida's skin for months—erupted. Not the hot kind that made you scream. The cold kind. The kind that sharpened your focus to a razor's edge and turned your blood to ice.

Her arm whipped forward.

The dagger left her hand with deadly accuracy, spinning through the air like a silver comet.

"STOP!"

Viktor's voice cut through the chaos like thunder.

'What—'

He moved.

Not the lazy, mocking movements Kaida had seen from him before. This was different. This was 'fast'—faster than she thought the bastard could move.

His body lunged between the assassin and Mira, arms spreading wide like he was trying to embrace the world. One hand caught the woman's wrist—the one holding Kaida's stolen dagger. The other wrapped around her back, pulling her into his chest.

"Stop! Don't hurt her!" Viktor screamed, his voice raw and desperate and completely un-Viktor-like.

The woman's momentum carried her forward. The dagger in her hand plunged down.

'SCHLK.'

The sound was wet. Obscene. Like a butcher's knife sinking into raw meat.

Steel punched through fabric, through skin, through muscle. It buried itself in Viktor's belly up to the hilt, the woman's fist pressed against his stomach as blood immediately began soaking through his shirt in a spreading crimson stain.

"Ghhk—" Viktor's body jerked, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat.

But he didn't let go.

His arms tightened around the assassin, holding her close even as the blade twisted in his gut. He turned—actually fucking 'turned'—putting his back toward Kaida.

Toward her thrown dagger.

'No.'

Time snapped back to normal speed.

Kaida watched, helpless, as her blade completed its arc through the air. Watched as it closed the distance. Watched as Viktor's body filled her line of sight—blocking Mira, blocking the assassin, blocking 'everything.'

The dagger slammed into his back with brutal precision.

'THUNK.'

It hit between his shoulder blades, right where the spine met the ribcage. The blade punched clean through, burying itself so deep only the hilt remained visible, quivering from the force of impact.

Blood sprayed.

Not a trickle. A 'spray'—hot and red and arterial, painting the marble floor in abstract patterns.

"Khuck—" The groan that came out of Viktor was animalistic. Guttural. The sound of a man who'd just been impaled twice and knew it.

His knees buckled.

The assassin's yellow eyes went wide—'shock', actual genuine shock breaking through that dead-eyed mask for the first time.

Her hand was still wrapped around the dagger in Viktor's belly, and when he fell, he dragged her down with him.

They hit the floor together in a tangle of limbs.

Viktor collapsed forward, his weight pinning the woman beneath him.

The dagger in his back shifted with the impact, grinding against bone.

The one in his belly twisted as the assassin reflexively tried to pull her hand free.

Blood pooled beneath them. Dark. Spreading fast.

The room went silent except for the steady 'drip... drip... drip' of blood hitting marble.

"Aa-aah... YOUNG MASTER—!" It was Mira.

One second she stood frozen in the doorway, her brain still catching up to what her eyes were seeing. The next, something primal—something that lived deeper than thought, deeper than fear—took over.

Her husband. Her Viktor. Bleeding on the floor.

"NO—NO NO NO!" The words ripped from her throat, raw and animal. Her feet moved before she could think, stumbling forward as her hands reached out like she could somehow catch him even though he'd already fallen.

She crashed to her knees beside him, her dress soaking immediately in the spreading pool of blood. Hot. Too much. Way too fucking much.

"Y-young master!" Her hands hovered over him, shaking so badly she couldn't touch him—terrified that if she did, it would somehow make it worse. Make it real. "Y-young master, no, please—"

Blood everywhere. On his shirt. On the floor. Dripping from his mouth as he coughed, his body jerking with the motion.

The dagger stuck out of his back like some sick joke. And his belly—fuck, his belly was—

Mira's vision blurred. Tears streamed down her face, hot and unstoppable.

"What did you—" Her head whipped around, green eyes wild and wet finding Kaida still on the floor a few feet away. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

The scream came from somewhere deep in her chest. Somewhere she didn't know existed until this moment.

Kaida's face went white. "I didn't—Sister, I wasn't—"

"YOU THREW THAT!" Mira's arm shot out, pointing at the dagger in Viktor's back with a trembling finger. "YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND!"

The words didn't sound like her own voice. Too high. Too broken. Like someone had reached into her throat and was squeezing.

"Mira, I was trying to save you!" Kaida scrambled to her knees, her red eyes wide with something Mira had never seen there before. Fear. Real, genuine fear. "That woman—she was going to—"

"I DON'T CARE!" Mira's hands finally landed on Viktor, gripping his shoulders, trying to turn him over, trying to see his face. "He's dying! Viktor is—oh gods, there's so much blood—"

Her fingers came away red. Sticky. The metallic smell hit her nose and her stomach lurched.

Viktor coughed again, a wet, gurgling sound that made Mira's heart stop. His head lifted slightly, turning just enough that she could see his face.

Pale. So pale his lips looked blue.

But his eyes—his dark eyes found hers, and something in them was still Viktor. Still alive.

"M-Mira..." The word came out thick, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't talk! Don't—just don't move, okay? We'll get help, we'll—" Mira's hands pressed against his belly where the other dagger still stuck out, trying to stop the bleeding, but it just kept coming. Pulsing between her fingers with each beat of his heart.

How much blood could a person lose?

How much before—

No. No, she wouldn't think that.

Beneath Viktor, pinned by his weight, the cloaked woman lay perfectly still. Her yellow eyes stared up at nothing, her hand still wrapped loosely around the hilt of the dagger buried in his gut.

Those eyes flickered. Shifted.

Slowly, like she was moving through water, her gaze traveled up to Viktor's face hovering above her.

He was looking at her too.

Their eyes met. Dark brown and hollow yellow.

The woman's expression didn't change. No fear. No anger. No relief at still being alive. Just... nothing. A void wrapped in skin.

But inside that void, something stirred.

'Why?'

The question formed without words, without even the shape of thought. Just a pure, animal confusion that rippled through her hollow chest.

She'd been ready. When that dagger came flying, when she saw death arcing toward her in a spinning blade, she'd been ready. Had welcomed it, even. One more job. One more kill. Then the end.

Finally.

But he'd moved. This man—this 'target's master'—had thrown himself between her and that blade. Had grabbed her. Protected her.

'Why?'

She didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Her brain, trained and honed and beaten into a weapon, couldn't process the action.

Masters didn't save slaves.

Men didn't save assassins.

No one saved her.

That was the rule. The only rule that mattered.

So why—

Viktor's lips moved. Blood dripped from them onto her cheek, warm and wet. "Are... you... hurt?"

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