The world snapped open in screams.
Ryn hit the first guard like a thunderclap, his dagger punching through the man's throat before he even raised his spear. Hot blood sprayed in arcs across the dirt road, spattering the silk-lined wagons. Ryn laughed... laughed... as he ripped free the blade and shoved the body under the wheels.
The horses shrieked, rearing wild. The caravan cracked apart in panic.
Selvara slid from shadow to shadow, her knives whispering faster than the eye could track. One guard staggered, clutching his chest, and another fell to his knees with his mouth bubbling red. She moved like water... calm, patient, smiling, even as she slit throats.
Kaelen didn't smile. He just cut. One, two, three drivers toppled from their benches, their reins torn from limp hands. His blade was ice. Each motion is clean and practised. Nothing wasted. Nothing human.
And Daemon-- Daemon stood there frozen.
The nobleman in front of him had no weapon. Just a robe, a jewelled chain, wide eyes. "Please," he gasped, falling to his knees. "We can pay you... we can--"
Daemon's hand shook on the sword hilt. His chest heaved. Not him. Not this one.
But behind the noble, a child screamed.
Ryn was already dragging her from the wagon, cackling. "Listen to that little bird sing! Gods, I love it when they fight." He raised his dagger.
"STOP!" Daemon roared, his voice cracking like dry timber. His legs finally moved. He lunged--
Steel clashed. Ryn blocked him, grinning wildly, blood dripping down his chin. "Ohhh, so the lamb has teeth."
The girl sobbed, crawling in the dirt. Daemon's vision blurred red. His sword trembled in his grip. He wanted to cut Ryn down right there. He wanted to--
But Selvara's voice slid in like silk. "Daemon. Do it. Or she'll die slower."
The world tilted.
Ryn lunged again, steel flashing. Daemon parried, barely. Sparks burst. His arm shook like it would rip from the socket. Rage tangled with terror, with guilt, with that dark heat that still burned from last night.
And then he snapped.
His blade whipped out in a desperate arc. It caught Ryn across the shoulder, tearing deep. Ryn screamed-- not in pain, but in joy. "YES! Bleed with me!"
Daemon didn't stop. He shoved him back, swung again, the steel biting flesh and bone. Ryn laughed through every strike, choking on his own blood, eyes burning like fire.
Selvara watched, her smile never breaking. Kaelen stood silent, sword dripping.
And Daemon-- Daemon didn't know if he was saving the girl or killing himself.
By the time he stopped, his arms were numb, his sword heavy with gore. Ryn lay sprawled in the dirt, still grinning, chest heaving. Not dead. Not yet.
The girl had vanished-- dragged away, maybe trampled by the chaos. Daemon couldn't see her anymore. He couldn't see anything but red.
Selvara leaned close, whisper soft in his ear. "Now you understand. Blood doesn't wash off. It binds."
Daemon's breath came ragged, broken. The noble he'd spared was gone too. No mercy here. No salvation. Just corpses.
And in the dust, in the ruin of silk and screams, Daemon realised... he wasn't the lamb anymore.
He was in the slaughterhouse with the wolves.