But now, she realized, none of that was bravery—not true bravery. For Shim had always been there, waiting for her. Existing in her view, like a child’s favorite blanket. Keeping her safe and warm. Doing the things she didn’t really want to do. If he was conscious now, she knew he would be the one to step forward and handle this.

She wished he would. Please wake up. Please. She held her breath, half-expecting him to do just that, the way he always had.

For the first time, she was truly alone in this world.

She steeled herself. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Seela laughed without mirth. “Does it matter what a murderer wants?”

“This is different.”

“Tell that to the corpses rotting in their graves, to their grieving friends and family.”

Soraya’s mind was spinning. Was this really happening? “I don’t…I’ve never…”

“We will help you,” Seela said. “Won’t we, my Sun?”

Sunny barely got the word out. “Yes.” Her voice was rough, strangled by emotion. “Use my blade.” She retrieved a dagger of fine workmanship from a loop attached to her belt. Spun it around so the handle was facing forward. “Take it before I lose my nerve.”

Soraya took it. Her hand shook.

“Steady,” Seela said. “You can close your eyes if it will help. I’ll guide your hand.”

Soraya wanted to do just that. Even more, she wanted to drop the knife and run away. This wasn’t what she’d thought being a Guardian would be about. Guarding Narcissi, yes, but not killing. Soraya hated to even step on an ant. All the gods’ creations had value, did they not? But she couldn’t deny that the monster Seela became, the nightdemon, was not natural. It was a mutation, an abomination, and even its host longed for the relief of death, so who was she to deny her?

“No, I must bear witness. You deserve that much. Now hold her,” she said, surprised when the command came out steady and unwavering.

“I’ll never let her go. Not ever,” Sunny said. Her arms wrapped around Seela from behind, capturing her hands and holding them together.

Soraya inhaled what was supposed to be a full breath, but which felt shallow and weak. Like her lungs had shrunk and could no longer hold as much air. Steadied her hand. Narrowed her eyes. Concentrated on The Thing She Needed To Do. Not who she was doing it to, or what it meant, but just The Thing. It was simple: Push the dagger forward at the desired target. Then it would be over. She would procure a wagon, load Shim up, and haul him back to the Rocklands. Cintra would know how to help him—of course she would.

The tip of the dagger moved closer. It almost felt like it was being controlled by someone else’s hand. She wished that was true.