Davian.
A storm of thoughts crashed through my mind all at once, violent and unrestrained. Punishment after punishment presented itself with terrifying clarity, images of her hanging upside down until the blood rushed to her head, of fire and pain meant to break her will, of ending it all swiftly and permanently so she would never become a threat again. Each thought was darker than the last, and for a brief, dangerous moment, they all felt justified.
She was a spy.
She was a danger.
She deserved it.
That was what I told myself.
But the moment I crossed the short distance between us and bent down beside her, something shifted.
Up close, she looked even smaller than before, her body slack against the cold floor, her lashes resting too still against her cheeks. Water clung to her hair, dampening the skin at her temples, and her breathing—if she was breathing—was so faint it made something tight coil in my chest.
A dull ache spread through me without warning.
