Yun-Jin saw Osalf's open throat and every old lesson lined up.
Angle.
Distance.
Pulse.
Pressure.
Her violet strand sat in her hand like a garrote made from moonlight. Osalf's sword arm hung useless. His guard was gone. His eyes, full of ownership and hate, were fixed on her because men like him always believed the final moment belonged to them.
One pull would open his throat.
The arena would cheer because the arena loved a clean end to an old cruelty.
Osalf had trained her to crave clean endings.
He had made every lesson a narrow hallway with pain at one end and praise at the other: strike first, finish fast, make the target smaller than the fear, walk away before the body cooled.
She had learned all of it.
That was why her hand knew exactly how to kill him.
That was why she distrusted the hunger.
Yun-Jin's fingers tightened.
Osalf smiled.
Blood covered his teeth.
"There," he said. "That face."
The law spear above Ty dropped.
