Page 147 of The Shattered Rite
Silas turned just as Malric struck.
It should have been clean.
It wasn’t.
Silas fought.
Malric didn’t mind.
His heart was too loud. His vision tunneled.
He wanted it to hurt.
The knife bit again. Again. Not precise now. Not clean.
But effective.
Blood soaked Malric’s hand. His blade.
Silas fell.
Finally.
Malric’s breath came harsh, ragged, echoing in the narrow corridor.
He should leave.
He didn’t.
He turned—just as she called Silas’s name again.
Her voice broke.
And she turned directly toward him.
Blind.
But facing him.
He felt it like a curse, that gaze.
Like she knew.
“Silas?! Please—someone, help me! I don’t—I don’t know what’s happening!”
She stumbled forward.
Malric stepped back.
But not fast enough.
Her hands found Silas’s body.
Her scream ripped through him.
He watched her collapse beside the corpse, watched her hands press to wounds that wouldn’t heal, watched her sob, her voice dissolving into broken apologies no one would hear.
He should have left.
