Page 193 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
“Silas,” I hiss, voice shaking despite the force in it. “What is your plan? To stab him?”
The question sounds absurd while I say it.
His face says it isn’t.
He turns toward me then, fully at last, fury blazing so bright in his eyes it almost looks like panic. “Maybe I need to,” he snaps. “Maybe that’s what it takes. Maybe I need to get rid of him for good.”
The words land like a blow.
This is not some wild threat. He means it enough that I can hear the shape of it clearly. For one horrible second, I see the rest of the night unfolding in blood and sirens. My parents at a police station. The Warden’s face. St. Augustine waiting with its jaws open. Silas gone because Kadin knew exactly what nerve to touch.
I step in front of him without thinking.
Both hands come up to his face, forcing his gaze down to mine. His skin is cold from the night air. His breathing is rough. The knife stays low at his side, but even that is enough to make my stomach twist so hard it hurts.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
At first, it doesn’t work. His eyes are on me, but not fully with me. Some part of him is already somewhere darker. Somewhere final. My thumbs press into his jaw harder, keeping him there.
“Do not do this for me,” I say. “Do not give him that.”
His throat works once.
“He threatened you.”
The sentence comes out quieter now, more frightening for it.
“I know.” My voice softens, not because I am less scared, but because I can feel how close he is to slipping past anything I can reach. “I know he did.”
I lean closer, forcing him to stay with me, with my face, with my voice, with the fact that I am alive and standing in front of him instead of the image Kadin has already become in his head.
“He wants this,” I tell him. “He wants you furious. He wants you messy. He wants something he can carry to other people and call proof. Don’t hand him that.”
Something shifts behind his eyes.
Not enough to calm him. Enough to make him think.
Then clapping cuts through the lot.
Slow...mocking.
The sound is ugly enough to raise gooseflesh across my arms. My head turns before I can stop it. I know who it is even before he steps fully into the light.
Kadin.
He stands near the hedges by the side entrance with his hands coming together in lazy applause, smile stretched across his face in a way that instantly makes the whole night feel wrong. Not smug in the usual way. More pleased than that.
“You really have that killer instinct, don’t you, Corvin,” he says.
Every muscle in Silas hardens beneath my hands.
Kadin sees it. His smile deepens a fraction. He takes another step forward, bruises still visible on his face from the blows he’s already taken this week, yet somehow still looking pleased with himself.
“Who knew it would take so little to piss you the fuck off.”
The words are bad enough. His tone is worse. He sounds amused. Interested. Like this is less confrontation thanexperiment. Like he dragged us out here to see exactly what would happen if he pressed hard enough.
“If I wanted to hurt her,” he says, eyes flicking to me, “I would’ve done it already.”
