Page 70 of New World

Instead, she listened.

Around them, the low murmur of conversation continued. She tuned in to the threads of information drifting through the smoky air—Legion forces moving, freighters being paid to smuggle goods out of the sector, a small dispute between two traders over stolen merchandise.

The only useful information was about the Legion. The rest was insignificant. Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed the bartender watching them with a wary eye. He was smart.

Mei had positioned herself at an awkward angle to the assassin, making it difficult for him to attack her without giving away his intention. Her back angled toward the wall, not the crowd, and she was completely relaxed—something that seemed to anger him.

Her lips quirked when he finally spoke.

“You’re either the bravest fool I’ve ever met…” His voice was low, rough, laced with the promise of violence. “…or the dumbest.”

Mei tilted her head slightly, unimpressed. She had heard worse insults. Zoak leaned forward, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light.

“Do you know what I am?”

Mei was silent, studying his face with a raised eyebrow as if she were truly contemplating his question. Her gaze swept over his face, noting the scales, the way they changed colors as his anger grew, his slanted eyes and pupils with the film of a lid that slid over them, and the tapping of his pointed claws on the table that he probably wasn’t aware he was doing.

“The ugly version of the Geico talking lizard?” she finally answered.

Confusion flashed through his eyes before they narrowed at her nonchalant insult.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

Ah. Here we go, she thought with amusement.

“Please, enlighten me,” she requested with a graceful wave of her hand.

Zoak leaned forward, his forked tongue flicking out between his sharp teeth, his slitted pupils narrowing as he studied her face with unhurried deliberation. Mei could tell he wanted to savor this part—the build-up, the anticipation, the slow unraveling of hope in his prey’s eyes.

“First,” he murmured, his voice low, velvety, and dripping with promise, “I will find your family and friends.”

His claws tapped against the wooden tabletop, a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“I will slaughter your family, taking my time. I will take them off-planet and release them one at a time into space after I’ve killed you. I want you to know that they are my captives and what their fate will be before your death comes. I believe the first of them that I’ll take is the dark-skinned one I saw on Cryon II.” He smirked as if he were telling her a great secret. “Yes, you care for him. He seems… durable. I will make sure he feels every slice of my blade.” His smirk widened, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “I imagine he will scream in that sharp, guttural language you speak as I strip the flesh from his bones, bit by bit, until there is nothing left but raw, glistening sinew.”

Mei kept her expression neutral, watching his movements as he spoke. Learning more about him and his thought processes. So far, what she was seeing and hearing made her feel like she needed a shower. She fingered the hilt of the knife strapped below her knee as he continued, his voice almost caressing the words.

“The woman—the Turbinta Master who thinks she is my equal—will be next. Kella.” His smile grew colder as he rolled Kella’s name across his lips. “Oh, I think I will break her mind first. She cares for the dark-skinned Ancient Knight. It will be a sweet pleasure when she sees what I have done to him.” He exhaled through his teeth. “She has forgotten what it truly means to be a Turbinta assassin. I will remind her and take her status as a Master away from her, just as she took it from Tallei.”

His eyes darkened as he tilted his head. “And your other Ancient Knights? I will string them up like the relics they are, shattered and unrecognizable, a warning to anyone foolish enough to hope.”

“Then,” he whispered, his breath warm with the scent of fire and decay, “there is Dorane.”

Mei’s gaze dipped to the table when Zoak’s claws flexed against the wood, sinking in, splintering it slightly. Well, at least the bartender can add a tourist draw of the idiot Turbinta assassin who clawed up his table.

“I will let him fight.” He chuckled, dark and cruel. “Oh yes, I will give him hope. I will let him believe that maybe—just maybe—he can stop what’s coming. He will want revenge once I tell him that it was I who destroyed Cryon II, not the Legion.” Zoak’s slitted pupils flared with delight. “Then, I will snap his bones, one by one. I will cut into his back, peel the skin away inch by inch, carving through muscle until he can no longer stand.”

Zoak sighed in mock sorrow. “And just when his pain reaches its peak, when he realizes there is no saving himself, no saving you…” He gave her a slow, predatory smile, his fangs gleaming in the dim light.

“… I will slice open his chest and take his heart.” He rolled his shoulders as if savoring the thought. “I want you to see it in my hands, still beating, still warm, the last piece of him… before it stops.”

His voice dropped even lower.

“Then… it will be just you left.”

Zoak leaned back in his chair, a pleased expression on his face. Mei followed his movement. She briefly pondered if he was even aware that she or anyone else were still there. He was so lost in his vision of gore, in his own delight of what he was revealing, that she seriously doubted it.

“I will start with your hands,” he said, his voice almost affectionate now. “You are too fast, too precise. I cannot have that. The tendons—yes, those will go first.” He mimed slicing across her wrist, his claws tracing the air. “The fingers will curl inward… useless. You will feel every snap, every fiber shredding beneath your skin.”

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