His Sentence

Three hours later, I was holding a dagger in my hand and staring at the cell in front of me. Charon was inside. His hands and feet were chained to the wall. The wide, thick cuffs tightly encircled his wrists and ankles. The elegant jacket he had in the woods was gone, and only a half-ripped black shirt embraced his chest. Calvel huffed a chuckle as he walked into the cell to tie a strap with a gag around Charon's mouth. "I don't want his teeth anywhere near you," he explained, and I was thankful for it.

The dagger I held was made of steel and silver. My fingers carefully wrapped around the leather hilt as I tried to steady my breath. I knew that Charon's eyes were on me even when mine drifted elsewhere. I could sense his mockery. He surely thought that I would panic and run before I used the blade. He wasn't entirely wrong. The nauseating feeling came and went every two minutes as I stood before the man who nearly ended my life. But I told myself that this wasn't only about me. He did