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I roam worlds. I traverse the Fabric between realms. I will not be slain by a treacherous male who captured my heart with a few slick words, a night protecting me from the cold with his body.
So I turn the dagger over in my hand, careful not to make a sound as I creep to Farin’s side. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t show any sign that my nearness disturbs him. He just sleeps, as if his conscience is clean.
I don’t understand it. Not after what he did to that man on the beach. Not after the countless lives he’s taken.
I don’t understand it, because sleep evades me.
It doesn’t matter which life I’m pantomiming, which parents I’m born to. Every parent I’ve ever had tells me I’m a poor sleeper, even as a baby. They all claim they don’t understand why. That they tried everything to coax me into slumber.
I never quite understand until the day I realize my dreams are not dreams at all, but memories.
Even as an infant, my conscience is speckled with ink. Ink that’s seeped into my very soul, blackening it with the guilt I carry from previous lives.
Here Farin lies. Unbothered. Undisturbed.
And I hate him for it.
The dagger trembles silently in my hand as I draw it over Farin’s neck. I’ll have to be efficient. Fae aren’t as easy to kill as humans.
The crunching of the innocent sailor’s spine rattles in my mind, threatening to gag me.
I rarely kill in a gruesome way, regardless of the life I’ve been born into.
I’m not sure I have a choice this time.
So I take the dagger, and I plunge it at Farin’s throat.
It stops a hair away from his skin.
Warm fingers dig into my wrist from where Farin grabs onto me. His blue eyes, having just shot open, aren’t wide with surprise as I might have expected. Just assessment. Curiosity.
“I wasn’t sure you’d have the guts to actually do it, Wanderer,” Farin says. He strains his jaw as I throw my entire weight into the dagger. Farin’s stronger than me, though, and with a groan, he holds me off—the two of us stuck in a stalemate.
“You shouldn’t have underestimated me,” I say.
Farin laughs, though it’s strained. “You really didn’t like me stealing your thunder today, did you?”
“Oh, come on,” I say, chest heaving. “We both know how this story ends. With my body in a ditch somewhere after I’ve shown you how to escape this world.”
Farin clamps his mouth shut, then examines me carefully. His blue eyes pierce mine, and I hate feeling seen like this. I push harder on the hilt, but Farin holds me off.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Wanderer? I don’t want you dead.”
“The deaths of others mean nothing to you. You proved as much today,” I say, though the words come out half-formed, my own guilt lancing me.
Farin frowns, cocking his head to the side, and the motion looks so nonchalant, it only inflames me.
“I don’t know when you lost the ability to feel empathy for others, Farin, but you can’t be allowed to live.”
“You don’t believe that,” he says, almost slyly.
He’s right. I don’t believe it. Not really. But I have to believe it. Because killing Farin is the only way off this island now, and I can’t… I can’t…
“You’re wrong, you know,” Farin says. “When you claim I feel nothing for others. When I realized you wouldn’t heal from the knife wound to your side…I felt something then.”
I scoff. “Am I supposed to faint over how romantic it is that you regretted I wouldn’t heal from the wound you inflicted?”
Farin’s expression is unreadable. “No, Wanderer. No, you’re not.”
