I gripped his hair, holding him steady, and used my other hand to speak to Lyra. He needs to know what happens when he touches you. With the same knife she used, I pressed the edge against one of Tomas’s little fingers. The sick sound of steel cutting through flesh and bone was buried beneath his roars of pain. I palmed the severed fingertip and sneered at the sobbing man. Without pause, I slammed my palm over his mutilated mouth, shoving the bloodied tip onto his tongue.
