“Yes, I do.” Cold sweat and rainwater streaked down her face, and adrenaline set her to shaking. But she lifted her chin and stared evenly into his eyes. “I know we’re better than our ancestors are. I know we can heal from this. But only if we set aside violence. Only if we stop meeting wrong with wrong. Your way isn’t superior. It’s only more of the same.”

“More of the same? You’ve slaughtered each other for nothing. I’m doing this for the greater good. I will be remembered as a hero. A visionary. My people have hidden themselves away for too long, but I will make a difference in this world.”

The horrible truth of it struck her. He believed it—every word of it.

“Can you really be so heartless?”

“Spare me.” Lowry sneered. “Now be a good hostage and get up.”

Wren dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the steady pulse of pain in her broken arm. The gun was an insistent pressure at her back, urging her forward. Over the edge of the bluff, a tethered steamboat bobbed in the battering surf. As soon as he was finished with her, he would pitch her into the waves. She could imagine the taste of the water as it filled her mouth, her nose. How the salt would burn all the way down.

But he’d be dead before that happened.

They descended the stairs slowly. Lowry’s steps were heavy and staggering against the weathered dock. Then, suddenly, they stopped. She turned over her shoulder just as he collapsed.

“What did you do to me?” There was a feral, desperate look in his eyes now, like a wolf trapped in a snare. “What did you do?”

His fear filled her with cold satisfaction. Was this how it felt on the battlefield? It felt so right. She could lose herself in this rush of power. Finally, she understood why generation after generation had signed up to die for Danu. She understood why everyone called her weak. She’d never been ruthless, but it was so easy to surrender to this hatred.

Too easy.

At her feet, so desperate and pale, Lowry looked like a frightened child dressed in too-fine clothes. How could she preach forgiveness and then watch him die by her hand?

Mercy is the most difficult thing.

Killing Lowry would not bring Byers back. It wouldn’t erase the horror of these past few weeks. It wouldn’t make her hate herself less. She couldn’t do this. Hurt begat hurt over and over again, and she was so tired.

She was so tired of death.