Mira's mother, Kalia, stepped closer, her eyes cold and focused. She drew a small, curved dagger from her belt while another woman brought a bowl, its rim painted red.
Kalia grabbed Lara's wrist, forcing her hand over the bowl. "Just a little blood," she murmured. "That's all we need to begin."
Lara's heart pounded. She had to do something. Anything. Her mind raced — every option led to death, except one wild, reckless thought.
As Kalia raised the dagger, Lara moved. Fast.
With a sudden burst of strength, she twisted her wrist free, spun around, and seized Kalia's hand. Before anyone could react, she wrenched the dagger from her grip and slashed a clean cut across the woman's cheek.
Kalia screamed, staggering back, clutching her bleeding face. She hissed in rage, blood streaking her face. "You wretched girl!" she snarled. "You'll pay for that!"
