Before he finished speaking, she was laughing. “And what? Do you think I owe you something just because you showed me decent human kindness when you saved me from that bombing? Even that was a lie. You saved me because you felt bad for orphaning me, and you gave me up the minute you saw me as a threat to your reputation. You don’t get to have me and push me away whenever you want. You don’t get to kill my parents and then expect gratitude for picking me up off the streets you put me on. I owe you nothing, Kohl.”

Before he could say any more, Aina lunged to the right. They moved at the same time, but she swung around first and kicked at his ribs.

He dodged the attack, then aimed a punch at her face. She stepped toward the window, pushing his arm away to deflect the hit.

Blood flowed from her injured arm the whole time, but there was nothing she could do about it now. All that mattered was ending him.

As if reading each other’s minds, they brought out daggers at the same time and moved toward each other in one swift step. Metal scraped against metal and steel flashed in the dark as they fought.

Aina leapt backward to avoid his next strike, which missed her by a hair’s breadth. That was another moment, like with the gun, where he could have killed her, but he missed or took a second too long to deliver the blow. She’d never seen him miss before.

Whatever this hesitation was, she could use it against him.

She swept her dagger across Kohl’s side and jumped past him. He inhaled sharply at the cut.

A smile lit up her face, and she beckoned him forward. They came at each other again. Aina swung underhand with her daggers, aiming for his side, when he caught them in place with his knife. Her arms began to shake. A small intake of breath told her he was finding this fight exhausting too.

She pushed upward with a loud grunt. His weapons flew into the air and clattered on the stone floor.

But he jumped out of the way of her next strike and grabbed his gun off the floor, lifting it faster than she could blink.

Paralyzed with fear, her only hope was that the Mothers would protect her for once.

But when his finger met the trigger, there was a pause of one second that seemed to last forever.

He fired.

She moved. The bullet missed her head by inches, but she stepped back toward him and swept her blades across his unguarded chest.

The smoke of the fired shot invaded her nostrils, filled her lungs as she watched him falter. She twisted his wrist so his gun dropped to the floor.

“Aina,” he said, backing up toward the window. His hands frantically tried to stop the flow of blood, but there was too much. He looked at his abandoned gun, but she blocked him from moving toward it. “Please. Listen—”