He roared in pain and spun, backhanding toward my head. I dove, rolled, came up behind him.
The crowd howled.
I wasn’t fighting for them.
He turned, fury in his eyes now. Good. Let him burn.
He charged. I waited.
At the last moment, I stepped into shadow—phased just enough for his weapon to pass through empty air—and emerged behind him again. Before he could recover, I drove my blade of shadow into the back of his knee.
He collapsed with a scream.
This time, I didn’t move away.
I stood over him, shadows writhing around me, breath heaving.
“I don’t want to kill you,” I said.
He spat blood. “You’re in the wrong place for mercy, girl.”
I raised my hand.
The shadows rose with me.
And then I struck—fast, clean, and silent. Not to kill. But to end it.
My blade stopped an inch from his throat, frozen in the air.
The bell rang.
The match was over.
A hush rippled through the crowd, confusion hanging heavy—until Mother Ashford’s laughter broke through, slow and indulgent.
“She’s wonderful,” I heard her purr.
I lowered my hand, the shadows melting away.
The man lay unconscious at my feet.
I stood tall in the centre of the pit, surrounded by blood, bathed in flickering light.
Not a victim.
Not a girl.
A weapon.
And the entire city had just seen it.
Chapter 31
Thorne
I had been pacing in my office for hours. Sleep eluded me and work failed to distract me. It wasn’t until I really thought about it, that I realised…
Something was wrong.
