KNOX’S POV

The words land in my chest, and I feel the bruise of them immediately.

Twenty years of unwavering loyalty.

Twenty years of placing himself between me and danger by any means necessary, through near-deaths and battles and the kind of thankless service that never makes it into the history books.

My jaw tightens. I force myself to feel nothing. Not an inch of mercy. Not a drip of care.

Because this is the man who drugged my coffee and killed my wife and murdered sixty-three people and documented me like a lab animal and lied to my face for a decade.

But he is also the man who...