LYSSANDRA The knife comes down.I feel the weight of it in my hand, the promise of it, the sheer reckless hope that maybe I can end this before it truly begins. My muscles lock, my breath cuts short, and every nerve in my body screams as the blade connects with the back of Cross Kryne’s neck.And then, instead of a cry of pain, instead of the wet, sickening sound I am braced for, there is laughter.It is deep and rich and utterly wrong, spilling out of him like I have just told the most amusing joke he has heard all year.I go still while my arm remains raised, my grip still tight around the handle, my heart slamming so hard against my ribs that I can hear it in my ears. For one dizzy second, I wonder if I have finally lost my mind, if fear has cracked something inside me and I am hallucinating this sound.Slowly, dread pooling thick and heavy in my gut, I look down at my hands.There is no blood.There's no slick warmth coating my fingers, and no iron smell rising up to choke me. I
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