{Ryanna POV}

I didn’t cry.

Not when I picked up the dagger. Not when my fingers shook around the hilt. Not even when I pressed the blade gently against the soft flesh of my neck.

There was only silence.

And a single bead of blood.

It rolled down slowly, tracing the hollow curve of my throat.

My hand trembled, but the blade stayed still.

I could feel my pulse, steady, stubborn, alive. The same pulse that had defied multiple life-or-death scenes before.

And that was the problem, ...