CH463 · Rewrite
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Chapter 463: The Elimination of the Bloody Hand Gang

The fear came before the understanding.

Snaketooth’s throat clenched. He opened his mouth and managed only a rasp—let go—while above him, Sunflower’s feet found nothing but air.

“You mean let go of her?” The man shrugged and kicked the stool away.

The rope caught Sunflower’s weight. Her body convulsed, hands opening and closing around the bindings at her wrists, feet kicking in the desperate, diminishing way of a person who still believes the body can find a purchase that isn’t there.

Tigerclaw lunged forward. A stick cracked against the back of his skull and he dropped.

“If we hadn’t been waiting for you, she’d already be dead.” Kanas’s henchman smiled without warmth. “Good excuse, diarrhea. We keep eyes on everything. He expected mutts like you would step out of line eventually—better to make an example when it happened.”

“It was my fault.” Snaketooth’s knees hit the floor. “Please. She never left this room.”

The henchman lifted one shoulder. “She lied to me. Two teeth knocked out, and she still wouldn’t change her story. Why would I let her live? So she can come after me later?”

They’re going to kill us.

The certainty arrived without drama. Snaketooth made himself look past Sunflower—past the weakening struggle—and fix on the dagger at the henchman’s belt. Six steps. If he could move fast enough, if the other men were slow to react—

The rope snapped.

Sunflower fell. The sound she made hitting the floor was dull and wrong.

Then a line of red opened across the henchman’s throat, spraying the face of the nearest Rat, and he sat down very slowly with an expression of profound surprise.

The outer room erupted.

“Stop! Bloody hand territory—”

“—somebody broke in—”

“Oh—my hand—”

“—come out and kill—”

“Monster—help—”

Two of Kanas’s men ran for the inner room. Something hit both of them before they cleared the doorway—not hit, exactly; moved through them, and they went down. The door swung wide.

The woman who came through it wore black from collar to boot, dark hair pulled back in a loose tail, and she moved the way very few people moved: without wasted motion, without hesitation, as if the distance between herself and the next problem was simply a measurement she was noting and clearing. Her eyes were gold.

When she glanced at Snaketooth, his blood stopped for a moment.

“Weapons down,” she said, and held up three fingers. “Hands on your head. Kneel. If you want to live.” She paused. “Three.”

Silence.

Then someone in the back: “God, that form—she’s worth a hundred gold royals—”

“Get her! Boss will reward us—”

“Catch her alive—”

She lowered her fingers.

“Then you’d be better dead.”

The sword she raised was enormous, ornate, cast iron—and it moved through whatever it touched. Men, weapons, furniture: everything it contacted shattered or gave way as if the material had simply lost the will to resist. She crossed the room in seconds. The lime powder thrown at her eyes missed. The crossbow bolts went wide. The crowd that tried to rush her couldn’t coordinate fast enough to matter.

It was over very quickly.

“Protect your friend, child.” The voice came from somewhere and nowhere at once, neither near nor distant.

Snaketooth crawled to Sunflower and pressed his hand beneath her nose.

Warmth. Faint, but there.

He hadn’t known he was holding his breath until he let it out. His eyes stung. He pressed his forehead against the cold floor and shook.

It was real. All of it. They came from the prince—they came exactly when the announcement said they would, and they came for the organizers, and now there’s hope.

He didn’t try to stop the tears.


Brown uniforms filled the room within minutes. The fight ended the way fights ended when one side hadn’t understood what it was dealing with.

The conscious Rats were lined up and walked out one by one.

“My head,” Tigerclaw muttered, one hand pressed to the lump behind his ear. “It’s enormous.”

“Be grateful it’s only a bump.” Snaketooth blinked hard against the residual salt in his eyes.

“What happened?” Sunflower touched the rope-mark on her neck—dark, deep, a line the color of iron.

“After we get out.” He couldn’t trust his voice for more than that.

“Your turn.” A guard twisted Snaketooth’s arms back and walked him out.

In the yard, a woman in white stood in complete contrast to everything the last half hour had been. Her face was hidden inside a hood; strands of curly blonde hair escaped at the edges. She wore no weapons that he could see. She looked like she belonged in a different story entirely.

“You may leave after answering a few questions.”

“Yes.” He meant it. He would have answered anything.

“Have you committed murder?” Her voice was clean and even, the kind of voice that didn’t need to be raised to be heard clearly. “Rape? Robbery?”

Something struck him then—not quite recognition, but the shape of it. The voice in the room, before the woman in black arrived. Protect your friend, child. The source of that voice had been nowhere and everywhere.

“None of those,” he said.

“Good.” She nodded once. “Wait at the square for His Highness’s dinner.”

He started to walk. Stopped.

It took him a moment to decide to ask. “Are you a witch?”

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