“You can do this,” Irene reminds me. “You are owed.” I nod. This is my right. “I’m sorry,” I whisper at Koen, letting the tip of the blade graze the soft spot on the side of his neck. I’ve kissed that spot. Licked it. Buried my face in it. I adjust my grip. I’m sorry, I think. With a firm swipe, I slice the ropes that tie his wrists together.
