My breath catches.
Her eyes—they burn. Bright brown. Alive. Furious.
Like fire flickering through fog.
I blink.
Veeto’s still rambling. “Or better yet, throw her in the pit and see how long she screams before the fire gets her liver?—”
“Enough,” I say.
They all pause.
I take a step forward, slow. Deliberate.
The girl doesn’t back down.
I study her. Really look.
Not just the mess—though that’s clear enough. Mud-slicked boots, thigh bleeding in a slow trickle, her cloak shredded and soaked. One side of her face is swollen, lips split. Her smell hits me full on—blood, fear, the sharp tang of gunpowder. But underneath that? Something else. Stubbornness. Strength.
I feel something twist in my chest. Not hunger. Not curiosity.
It feels like... a knot coming undone.
I take another step.
She lifts the stick higher, her chin quivering but raised.
“Alright,” I murmur.
Veeto squints at me. “Alright what?”
I look at her.
“You want to live?” I say. “Sing. Dance. Tell me a tale.”
Silence.
Even the still burbles quieter.
Her brow furrows, like she doesn’t hear me right.
“I’m serious,” I say, louder now. “Make me laugh. Make me cry. Show me you’re more than meat.”
Charen cackles. “You’re soft, bridge-boy.”
“Shut it,” I snap without heat.
Toad Knight glares at me. “She’s athreat?—”
“She’smine,” I growl.
His mouth opens. Closes.
The girl’s stick wavers. She blinks. Slowly.
“What’s the catch?” she croaks.
