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It was one small movement. Nothing more than slicing through the dummies her father had made Kallie use during her training.

If she hadn’t drawn her blade first, she would have been the one pressed against the wall. She knew that fact like she knew the night sky. If Graeson had gotten to her first, he would not hesitate. He hadn’t hesitated to kill the Ardentolian soldiers when they were fleeing through the woods months ago. And Kallie was better than him. Shehadto be better than him. She had to prove to her father that her heart wasn’t some fragile thing, thatshewasn’t the weak woman he thought she was.

Kallie dropped her gaze.

If she kept looking at that stubborn glint in Graeson’s moon-gray eyes, she would never be able to do it. However, she regretted her choice instantly. Heat flushed her cheeks as his tongue swiped across his teeth, and she mentally cursed herself.

It was just her body’s reaction. Graeson was without a doubt attractive, and they had a history—a short, complicated history, but a history nonetheless. She knew what those lips felt like on hers.

Focus, Kallie.

She directed her attention back to the dagger. A pebble of red bubbled where the tip of the blade had pierced Graeson’s skin.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little blood?” Graeson asked. “If that’s the case, then perhaps this wasn’t the right form of attack for you. A slice through the throat, while fairly quick if done right, does produce a lot of blood. It’s not for the faint, I’m afraid.”

Kallie huffed. Afraid of blood? Ridiculous.

Her hand tightened around the dagger.

His fingers, which were still on top of hers, flexed as he whispered, “That’s right. Just like that.”

“You talk too much,” she gritted out,

“Hm. Never been told that before,” Graeson said as if they were having a friendly conversation—as if her blade wasn’t piercing his skin, as if it hadn’t already drawn blood. “Maybe the problem is that you don’t talk enough. Tell me, Kalisandre, what other secrets lie in that pretty head of yours?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kallie asked, infusing more venom onto her tongue and ignoring how her stomach twisted at the sound of her name.

Graeson cocked a brow. “Yes, actually I would.”

Kallie narrowed her eyes and snapped her mouth shut.

His gray eyes were storm clouds in the darkness as he stared down at her. His chest rose beneath her arm at a steady rate. Graeson wasn’t nervous; he wasn’t even shaken by the dagger Kallie held against his throat. He was eerily calm. As she continued to observe him, the corner of his mouth twitched, amusement sparking in his heated gaze.

He was provoking her, and she had fallen for it. She was never this sloppy.Never.

Unless it was with him.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, Graeson.” Kallie forced her hand to remain steady as she kept the blade pressed against his neck. “Why are youhere?”

With a face of stone, Graeson said, “I’m here for you.”

Kallie cackled. “And what was your plan? Were you going to run after me and stab me in the back?”

“What?” Graeson’s features contorted in confusion. “Kalisandre, I’m not here tokillyou. If there is one thing you should be certain of, it is that.”

Kallie’s gaze bounced across his face, but there was no twitch of the nose, no wandering eyes. Graeson stared her down, unmoving.

But how could that be? What other reason did he have to be here besides to kill her? He had been there in the hallway of the Cavern of Catius when her shields had finally cracked, when Fynn finally could read her thoughts. As much as she wanted to blame Sebastian for driving the blade through Fynn’s heart, Kallie was the one who had put it there. She was the one who had led Fynn onto the ship unintentionally. She was the one who had orchestrated the entire raid months before with her father.

Her eyelids burned; her throat ached. But Kallie would not cry here. Not in front ofhim.

“Do you think me a fool?” Kallie spat, clenching her teeth. Her voice shook, her throat raw and burning. “I am no fool, Graeson.”

His grip around her wrist tightened. “Kalisandre, you are not to blame.” His words were no more than a whisper.

But it wouldn’t have mattered if he screamed them, for they were still a lie.

“You know nothing, Graeson.”