Olivia's gaze remained anchored to Serene's face—a death mask of waxy, bloodless pallor that turned her stomach. For a phantom heartbeat, a fractured part of her soul craved the impossible: to reach out, to cradle that familiar warmth, to pretend the world hadn't gone dark. But the longing was instantly devoured by the jagged, shrieking memory of the steel. She could still feel it—the sickening shink of the dagger shearing through muscle, the hot, wet bloom of her own life spilling over her fingers, and the bone-deep chill of betrayal that had heralded her end.
Before she could retreat into the void of her mind, Mathias's hand struck. His fingers clamped around her wrist like a jagged iron vice, his grip devoid of any shred of mercy. With a brutal, jarring yank, he forced her downward.
The contact was electric and foul. Her fingertips skidded across Serene's skin—a surface as cold and unresponsive as a frozen slab of meat.
