Fuck, fuck, fuck. I swing out with my knife, but he catches my right hand, pinning my wrist to the ground. Then he wraps his other hand around my throat and squeezes. “Fucking die, already,” he seethes, his voice blending into the ringing in my ears as he lowers his face to mine. There’s no air as his grip tightens on my windpipe. “Secrets die with the people who keep them,” he whispers, bringing his nose an inch from mine. His eyes are light brown but rimmed in red as though he’s on some kind of drug. Aetos. Fear floods my mind, breaking past my shields, but it’s not mine. I can’t focus on
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