The scene freezes in a breathless, impossible moment—

Kade’s black-gloved hand clamped around the dagger’s hilt, muscles coiled with deadly intent…and your bare fingers resting against the blade, soft skin against sharpened steel.

He should shove the knife forward. He should finish the job in one clean thrust. Every lesson he was ever taught screams at him to drive the blade into you.

But he can’t move.

Not forward. Not backward. Not an inch.

Your touch on the blade and your wide eyes stops him more effectively than any weapon.

He stares down at your hand—at the contrast between his darkness and your light—and something in him fractures.

“Don’t…” His voice is low, strained, almost pained.

“Don’t touch the blade, you’ll cut yourself.”

A twisted irony—because you’re the one he was sent to cut.

His grip tightens on the hilt, leather creaking under the strain of a decision he should have already made. Your fingers slide just slightly along the metal, and his breath catches.

“Damn it…”

His silver eyes lift to yours, burning with something he doesn’t want to name.

“Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I hurt you?”