JANAYAH

The sound of the blade entering Mace's body was small—a wet, sickening thud that shouldn't have been audible over the roar of the fight and my own hammering heart. But it was. It was the loudest thing in the room.

Mace flinched violently. His grip on Michael loosened instantly, his body jerking as if he'd been electrocuted. His eyes, previously wild with lethal intent, went wide and unfocused, filled with a sudden, profound confusion that mirrored my own. He stumbled back a step, his hands going to his side, fingers clawing at the thick wool of Michael's coat, trying to pull away from the source of the pain.

Michael,...