(AAA…) UNCERTAINTY IV

Sophia Hess had backed herself into a corner, and she knew it.

The look in Hebert’s eyes—wide, and dawning with recognition—wasn’t something she could let stand, that spark of understanding already too dangerous. Hebert might’ve been weak, pathetic even, and invisible to the majority of people in her life, but she wasn’t stupid. She had pieced things together. And if she opened her mouth, if she so much as breathed the truth to the wrong person, Sophia’s life as she knew it would be over.

Her place in the Wards and her freedom would be gone.

The thought alone made Sophia’s stomach twist with a cold, gnawing panic. She could already see the headlines: WARD INVOLVED IN ATTEMPTED ASSAULT OF CLASSMATE. There’d be no salvaging her reputation (what little she had), no carefully crafted excuses she could give, no buried reports her incompetent handler could manage, and definitely no second chances. It would all come crashing down.

And so, cornered, she reached for the one tool she’d always relied on when control slipped from her grasp: fear.

Her gloved hand slid down to the holster strapped against her thigh, usually covered by her cloak, and closed around the familiar hilt of a knife. One of the smaller ones, easy to hide, and easier still to brandish without drawing attention if she had to. She drew it now though, in one smooth motion, the steel catching a dim sliver of light from the sky.

Hebert’s breath hitched, and Sophia moved before she could think better of it—before that sound could become anything else—clamping a hand hard over the girl’s mouth. The muffled gasp that vibrated against her palm was almost satisfying.

“Listen to me,” Sophia hissed, low and urgent, her face close enough that Hebert couldn’t look anywhere else. She angled the knife just at the girl’s throat, letting the tip press into the soft flesh beneath her jaw. “You keep your mouth shut about the locker, me, and Ems, and maybe you live to see tomorrow.”

The threat hung in the air, and to everyone else, it should have been enough. The explicit threat, the knife, and the weight of Sophia’s presence should have crushed Hebert into terrified silence.

But Hebert moved.

It wasn’t bravery, and it wasn’t defiance either. It was actually more instinctual, a sudden, almost desperate jerk upward, like her body was trying to wrench itself free, to breathe past the hand on her face.

And in that raw, thoughtless instant, everything went wrong.

The blade slid in with horrifying ease, meeting no resistance as she felt the delicate give of skin. The sound was wet and obscene, a squelch that Sophia felt as much as she heard.

It was followed by the gurgle of air forced through blood. 

Hebert froze, shock written across every line of her face, before the pain caught up. Her eyes went wider than Sophia had ever seen, glassy with fear, disbelief, and then something uglier burning through helplessness and tears.

Hatred.

Sophia staggered back, the knife slipping free from the wound, slick and trembling in her grip. Blood welled fast, staining the bed in blooming crimson.

“No, no, no, no—” The words tumbled out, a panicked whisper she couldn’t stop. This wasn’t what she meant. She hadn’t planned for this to happen. It was supposed to be control—control—not this.

Hebert clawed increasingly weakly at her throat, and at the sheets, and back to her throat, as if asking for help to stop the bleeding. Every rasp, and every bubbling breath was agony drawn out in seconds that stretched into forever, and worst, her gaze never left Sophia.

Sophia, despite wanting nothing more than to, couldn't look away either, the fearful, furious, and pained expression locking her in place.

And then Taylor Hebert slumped sideways, still and silent, her eyes staring at nothing at all.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Sophia staggered further back, her breath shallow and ragged. Her hand went slack, the knife clattering against the tile, loud enough that it seemed to fill the room. 

Her world, once carefully balanced between the mask of a hero and the thrill of control she’d clung to since she triggered, had just collapsed in on itself.

And Sophia Hess, Shadow Stalker of the Wards, could do nothing but stand there and look down at what she had done.

At what she couldn’t undo.