Blanche's POV
Vincent's brutal words slammed into Amara like a punch to the gut.
I whirled around, fury blazing in my eyes as I snapped at him, "Vincent, enough!"
Kingsley understood Vincent's strategy perfectly, though worry gnawed at him—this could all backfire spectacularly.
Amara's grip remained death-tight on the knife while blood from my hand dripped steadily onto the floor, forming a crimson puddle beneath me.
Vincent pressed on relentlessly. His voice cut through the thick tension like a blade. "You've got energy to threaten your best friend with a knife, but you can't gather solid evidence? Can't fight for Marquis to get a harsher sentence? If I were in your shoes, Marquis would be behind bars in shackles by now, not standing here sobbing and lashing out at innocent people. If I was dying, I'd drag him down with me first..."
I couldn't silence Vincent's inflammatory words.
