Page 79 of Traitor

"What do you need, Ely?" My voice is steady, but something off-kilter twists inside me. Not nerves. Not alcohol. Something else.

She looks at me, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"From tonight. What do you need? You clearly have a plan, want to do something to me, to take some kind of revenge. You can do anything to me, Ely. My brothers won't stop you. They're instructed not to. I won't stop you. I'll take everything you want to give me in order to take your revenge. Any type ofcoffee."

She smiles like I just said something funny. "I guess I was too obvious, huh?"

I don't answer this time. Something hits me hard, all of a sudden. I focus on my breathing, on the weight of the fork in my hand, on the feel of my own body. Something's changing.

Too slow. Too sluggish.

I blink.

The table wavers. Just a little.

I grip the edge, exhale slowly through my nose.Focus.

Ely tilts her head, watching me carefully.

"Are you killing me, Ely?" I say, the words slightly delayed, like my mouth is catching up to my thoughts. I clench my jaw, trying to force sharpness back into my voice.

She sips her wine slowly. Not much — just enough to hide the smirk behind the glass.

"Am I?"

Fuck. I really hope she's not killing me. But if she is, then so be it. Maybe it will finally bring her closure.

I push my chair back, muscles tensing to stand, but — I can't.

Fuck.

The room tilts, and I have to brace my hands on my thighs to stop myself from listing to the side.

Whatever she gave me, this shit is strong.

It hits all at once — the heaviness in my arms, the delay in my movements, the way my heartbeat feels too slow but too loud at the same time. My head feels like it's sinking, as if gravity itself has thickened, pressing me down.

I can barely keep my eyes sharp enough to hold her gaze.

She leans forward, placing her chin in her palm, fingers tapping against the side of her cheek.

"How do you feel, Kane?"

I lift my hand, reaching — for what? Her? The knife beside my plate so I can finish this faster?

It doesn't matter. My fingers barely respond. The motion is sluggish, weak.

I blink again. I swear the room gets darker for half a second.

Ely watches me, studying. Not gloating. Just waiting.

She wants to see how long I last.

I force out a breath, push against the dead weight of my body, but the chair scrapes back, my knee buckles, and suddenly, I'm not standing — I'm falling.

I brace for impact, but I barely feel it. The floor is cold, but my body is too numb to care.

A shadow moves beside me.

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