Raahi's wrists burned where the rope had sawed into her skin—not tight enough to break the surface, just enough to leave angry pink lines. Samar—no, *not* Samar—traced one with the tip of a hunting knife, his breath hot against her ear. "Tell me you don't want this," he murmured, "and I'll stop."

She knew it was a lie. The way his free hand gripped her hip, fingers pressing bruises into the bone, betrayed him. Raahi squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of Mayra's limp body in the corner flickered behind her eyelids. The girl's ragged breathing was the only proof she was alive.