She smiled, as red blood trickled down her neck. The [Knight] studied her. Cara—or whatever her name was—stared at him. Not without fear, but refusing to show any of it to him.

He pressed infinitesimally harder. The cold blade bit into her neck, another micro-fraction.

“Intruder. Do you have any last words?”

She focused on his eyes. She took a deep breath and shuddered as she felt blood running down her neck. But she didn’t look away. This was it. An actor had to at least know when the curtain called. She closed her eyes in a slow blink, and then locked eyes with him.

“I suppose. If ever someone should come looking for me, and use my real name—tell my family I loved them. And then get ready for the electric chair, you murdering pissant of a ghost.”

She tried to deliver it with thunder and fury. But her knees shook and she knew he saw it, heard the tremble in her voice. She wished the glimmer of tears weren’t in her eyes. But she didn’t want to die.

The [Knight] blinked. He stared at her. It might not have been a good insult given how electricity was unlikely to harm the unliving—and the concept was probably unfamiliar to someone who belonged to the Middle Ages—but the point got across.

The biting chill ate into her throat. The [Knight], the guardian of this tomb, shifted. He did not inhale. His actions were reflexive. He was dead. Nevertheless—he slowly considered her.

“You claim you are innocent? Even now?”

“I don’t need to lie about that.”

And that was the truth. The only truth she’d told him. The [Knight] hesitated. Then he slowly took his blade away. Exasperated, he floated an inch off the ground. She inhaled a shuddering breath as she felt at her cut throat. His voice was resigned.

“…Cara isn’t your real name, is it?”

“Sure it is. Cara O’Sullivan. Pleased to meet you.”

She smiled. The [Knight] looked at her. He shook his head.

“Be grateful you do not lie as well as you believe, girl. You told me one truth. If you came into this place by accident…you cannot so easily leave this place. I will discover the truth.”

“What? No—really. My name’s Cara. Cara O’Sullivan. I’m from…”

He walked away. His form vanished among the stone caskets. The young woman, Cara, felt at her throat.

How had he known she was telling the truth?

Then she felt them trickling down her cheeks, out of the corner of her eyes. Tears. She touched at them.

The [Knight] had seen them. An unconscious reaction. She shook her head and sat, clutching at her throat, fumbling for a handkerchief.

“Shame. I need to work on my poker-face.”