The silence after Lucas left was louder than his presence had been, a suffocating void that pressed against my skin like damp stone. My chest heaved, lungs clawing for breath, but the air in the cell felt thick, poisoned by the echo of his words, sharp as a blade’s edge.“Tell me, Rose… would you try to kill me, or kiss me?”I pressed my forehead against my knees, trembling, my body curled into itself as if I could shrink away from the question. My fingers lingered on the blade hidden beneath the cot, its steel cold and unyielding against my skin. I could have done it. I should have done it. The moment had been there, his throat exposed, his guard lowered, his storm-gray eyes searching mine for something I didn’t dare name.So why hadn’t I?Because the thought of his blood on my hands didn’t taste like victory. It tasted like ashes, bitter and final. And worse, goddess help me, when he leaned close, his scent of pine and sandalwood curling around me, I had wanted to kiss him instead
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