Page 52 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

I grab her discarded dagger, wipe the blade clean, and press it back into her palm.

Aria

Istandintheheavy silence, heart pounding in my ears as I stare at the scattered enforcers on the ground. It takes a moment for me to realize we’re still alive, still standing.

My legs feel like water, and my fingers tremble from the rush of power that coursed through me a moment ago.

I stabbed someone.

Not just anyone—Maelric.One of my mother’s most loyal enforcers. I remember him from the estate halls—always silent, always watching. Cruel in the quiet way, the kind that didn’t need to raise his voice to make you flinch. He was the one who punished the bloodslave I refused to hurt. I can still hear his screams.

And now Maelric's bleeding because of me.

The weight of the dagger still lingers in my grip, my palm sticky with his blood.

I did that.

Ihurthim.

I can’t decide if I’m horrified or proud.

Roan, blood beading on her forearm, shifts her stance. Her blade is still in her hand, but her grip has loosened slightly now that no one's attacking. She scans the bodies on the ground, sharp eyes flicking between them. I watch as one of the fallen enforcers stirs, a pained groan slipping from his lips.

“They’re not dead,” I murmur.

Roan glances at me, then at the man I stabbed, watching as his chest rises and falls with uneven breaths. A muscle feathers in her jaw.

“How do we make sure they stay down?” she asks. Her voice is flat, but I hear what she isn’t saying.Do we kill them? If so, how?

I swallow hard. “The quickest way is fire,” I say. “Or beheading. But blood loss will kill as well.”

Roan’s expression doesn’t shift, but something unreadable flickers in her eyes. Her grip tightens slightly on her sword, her gaze sweeping across the bloodied bodies again. For a long, breathless moment, she doesn’t move. Just stands there—still as stone, eyes sharp and distant, as if she’s already ten steps ahead.

Calculating.

The sight twists something low in my stomach. She’s weighing lives. Outcomes. Risks.

“They’ll wake up,” she mutters finally, almost to herself. “And they’ll come after us.”

I know she’s right. But…

My eyes drop to Maelric. He’s still unconscious, blood seeping from him. He crumpled with a sound I’ll never forget.

I stare at him now, this unconscious weapon shaped by the same hands that shaped me. And for all my fear, all my anger—I don’t feel relief. Just… hollow.

This could’ve been me,a voice whispers inside.

It almostwas.

I force myself to breathe. “If we kill them, others will come looking,” I say, voice tight. “They always do.”

Roan exhales sharply through her nose. I can tell she doesn’t like it. But after a beat, she nods. “Fine. But we’re not leaving empty-handed.” She gestures toward the fallen enforcers. “Grab what you can.”

Relief floods through me, sharp and dizzying—but it doesn’t last. It never does. Unease creeps in just as fast, curling cold around my ribs.

Looting them?

The thought turns my stomach, but I don’t argue. Roan’s right. We need supplies—whatever we can carry. It’s survival now. Clean hands are a luxury I can’t afford.

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