The knife gleamed in Nikolai's hand, curved and sharp, the blade catching the moonlight that streamed through the window. Ela looked at it, then at his face, at his gold eyes burning with desperation and grief and a love so fierce it had curdled into something almost unrecognizable. She wanted to feel something. Fear, maybe. Or pity. Or the echo of the bond that had once tied them together. But there was nothing. Just the hollow. Just the emptiness. Just the cold, quiet peace that had become her entire existence. Nikolai stepped toward the bed. Sasha was still on the floor, gasping for breath, his hands clutching his throat. He tried to stand, to intervene, to stop whatever madness was about to unfold, but his legs would not hold him. The silver burns on Nikolai's wrists had healed, but the scars were still there, pale and rais
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