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Syrin drove the dagger to his throat, but he did not pierce it. Instead, he drew the blade downward, stopping at his waist.
The steel sliced through the dense fabric of his shirt, carving a straight line of blood that neatly split his upper body in two.
Ashe's expression darkened. "You've changed your mind."
Syrin tossed the dagger aside. "Yes."
He brushed his long hair behind his ears, regaining the effortless elegance of an elf. His face settled into calm composure, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and even, "Imprisoning you was nothing more than my own naive wishful thinking. You are the Sense Heath summoned at great cost. You escaped even the Shattered Lake Prison. How could I ever hope to hold you?
"This world is filled with uncertainty....
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