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“I’m—”
Aelin snatched the dagger from him, metal
clicking on metal as she fitted the blade’s tip
into the lock. The dagger shook in her
ironclad hand. “Take it off,” she breathed, lips
curling back from her teeth. “Take it off. ”
Lorcan made to grab the dagger, but she
angled away. He snapped, “These locks are
too clever. We need a proper locksmith.”
Panting through her clenched teeth, Aelin
dug and twisted the dagger into the gauntlet’s
lock. A snap cracked through the clearing.
But not the lock. Aelin withdrew the
dagger to reveal the broken, chipped point. A
shard of metal tumbled from the lock and into
the moss.
Aelin stared at the broken blade, at the
shard in the greenery cushioning her bare,
bloodied feet, her breaths coming faster and
faster.