Page 126 of Property of Scar

If she fought, it would be easier. If she tried to stop me, I’d have something to push against.

But she doesn’t.

She stays exactly where she is, trusting me with the last thing I have left to give her.

My other hand steadies her, holding her in place because I know if I hesitate again, I won’t do it. I’ll try to save her. I’ll look for a way that doesn’t exist.

And I can’t let that happen.

Not to her.

The blade goes in under my hand, the resistance immediate and real, her body reacting even as she doesn’t fight me. I feel every inch of it as it passes through, ending what’s left of her before the poison can take it back.

Her gaze never leaves mine.

Not for a second.

I feel it before I understand it, the shift in her, the last of the tension in her body pulling tight and then slipping, not all at once, but in small, irreversible pieces.

Her chest stills first.

Not a dramatic stop.

Just… nothing following the last rise.

I’m close enough to see it happen. Close enough to watch the exact moment it doesn’t come back.

My hand tightens on her automatically, as though I can force it and make her take another breath just by refusing to accept that she won’t.

“Astrid—” It doesn’t reach her.

Her eyes stay on mine, but something behind them shifts, the focus softening, not in fear, not in pain, just… slipping. Like the part of her that was holding on has finally let go.

I see it leave.

There’s no mistaking it.

No way to deny it.

One second she’s there, the next…

She isn’t.

Her gaze softens.

Slips.

And then…

She’s gone.

I feel the exact second it happens. There’s no mistaking it, the absence hits like something physical.

“No!” It rips out of me before I can stop it, raw, useless, and already too late.

My grip tightens on her automatically, dragging her closer against me like I can force her back into it, like I can undo what just happened by refusing to accept it. Her body gives under my hands in a way it didn’t a second ago, no resistance left, no tension, just weight.

Empty.