I look up at Lucius. “Help him.” He has more power. Maybe he has enough.

“He was a traitor anyway. He’s the one that led you astray.” He kicks at Roman’s leg, making it slide across the gravel.

The rage that builds in my throat almost makes me vomit. My magic pushes against me so hard it feels like my skin will peel away just to let it out, and I give it a command: hide. I can’t let him think I’m a threat. I rise up from my knees and step toward Lucius.

I’m not a match for him now. Not with Numerius’s power freshly stolen.

We both know I’ll have to play pretend if I want to live. Be an illusion.

“You’re right,” I say. “He convinced me they were good.” I try not to look down at Roman’s face—I don’t succeed. It’s softer and more boyish with his eyes closed. I will myself to look regretful, and it’s not hard. I regret a lot.

I helped kill the vampire I’ve wanted dead for more than half my life, and now I’m losing the one I might love.

I know Lucius doesn’t believe my act, but I only need him to believe I’m doing it to save my own skin—that I’m the survivor he made me.

Lucius reaches out a hand to me; victory lights his eyes. There’s actual joy in them and surprise, like he didn’t know he could feel this way. He got the revenge he spent centuries pining for, but I know that joy isn’t going to last. I can already see the way his pupils constrict as he looks at me, as he assesses how best to handle me. “Daughter,” he says, his hand still open.

Everyone around us watches, waiting.

I put my hand in his. One side of his mouth curves upward, and I think I catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but I don’t let it stop me. He got his revenge, but I only got half of mine, and I guess in this one way, I am my father’s daughter.

This time, I don’t hesitate.

He starts to say my name, but I don’t let the second syllable leave his mouth. I step closer, like I’m going to pull him into an embrace—

And bury my knife in his heart.