Just slip the blade between his ribs, pierce his heart, and it would be over. He wouldn’t even feel it.
I’d be free of this mess, free to continue my search for Finn.
The Guild would welcome me back if I delivered Gael’s lifeless body.
Maybe not with open arms, but with a reluctant acceptance that I was still one of them.
After what happened with Finn, I needed to prove I wasn’t a traitor, that I hadn’t completely lost my edge.
And yet…
I hesitated, the knife’s hilt warm in my grip. Gael’s face was peaceful, his sharp features softened in sleep.
He looked... vulnerable.
Defenseless. The word curdled in my gut. Ending someone who couldn’t fight back? It shouldn’t bother me. It never had before.
The Guild taught us to strike when the odds were in our favor, to survive by any means necessary.
I’d done things in the name of the Guild that would haunt me for the rest of my life. But this... this felt wrong.
Why him?
Disgust twisted through me. My fingers tightened around the knife, the leather-wrapped hilt biting into my palm.
Just do it, Asher. End this.
But the blade didn’t move. My muscles refused to obey, locked in some invisible struggle I didn’t understand.
I stared at Gael, the whisper of his name in the back of my mind like a ghost’s sigh.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, voice barely more than a rasp.
I shoved the knife back into its sheath and pushed to my feet, my knees stiff from the cold, unforgiving floor.
Gael didn’t stir. He remained in that eerie, motionless state, trapped somewhere between death and sleep.
I turned away, forcing down the tangle of frustration and confusion.
I needed to clear my head, assess the situation outside, and decide what the hell to do next.
Creeping to the warehouse door, I slipped out into the biting morning air.
The town was quiet, the streets barely stirring to life.
I stuck to the shadows, every step calculated, my gaze sweeping for signs of danger.
The adrenaline thrumming through me sharpened my senses, dulled the ache of exhaustion that clawed at my edges.
I made my way toward the main street, taking the long way around, doubling back a few times to cover my tracks.
My boots made no sound on the cracked pavement, years of practice keeping me silent.
The local pub came into view, a dim glow spilling out through the windows.
I slid up alongside the building, pressing my back against the rough brick.
Voices drifted through the open window. Two men, their tones low and disgruntled. I closed my eyes, focusing on their words.
