“Yes, but I let you cut me then,” I say, scanning her figure for any sign of the weapon in question. Her hands remain curled at her sides, empty of any such knife. I lift my eyes to hers again. “I’ll do you the honor of wounding me, but I won’t allow you to strike a killing blow.” “You won’t have a choice.” “How so?” “Because you can’t move.” I take a step to the side, proving otherwise. My lips curl at the corners, but hers do as well, sending a spear of doubt through me. She’s far more confident than she should be. She’s almost giddy with it. A thought blares in the back of my mind, but it
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