Page 43 of Crowned In Venom

They are not.

Their eyes lift—pure, unwavering defiance.

They would rather die than break.

Interesting.

I could kill them.

It would be easy. A single snap of the spine.

But death is a waste of a message.

I crouch before them, reaching out.

They flinch before they can stop themselves.

I smile.

"Your hands," I murmur.

They still.

I take them—both wrists in my grip.

And then I break them.

Sharp, precise.

The sound echoes through the chamber.

The assassin does not scream.

But they shudder.

Their body writhes from the sheer, excruciating weight of it.

I lean in, my lips just beside their ear.

"Tell whoever sent you that I am not so easily killed."

I rise, wiping the blood from my fingers.

"Go."

They hesitate, trembling.

Then, slowly, they drag themselves toward the door.

A broken thing. But still breathing.

That is the message.

Because corpses cannot carry warnings.

But the maimed do.

As soon as they are gone, I exhale, rolling my shoulders.

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