“I’ve offered to help her,” Imogen says quietly. “She won’t take it.” “Why the hell not?” I catch my knife, flipping it with total muscle memory. Imogen sighs. “No fucking clue, but her stubbornness is going to get her killed.” I watch Liam’s sister struggle under Jacek’s weight, her face splotchy and red from the exertion, and blow out a slow, resigned breath, my fist closing around the hilt of the dagger. The unspoken rule of the quadrant is to let the strong weed out the weak before they can become a liability to the wing. As a rider, I should walk away. I should let Sloane rise or fall on
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