The knife pressed harder at his throat.

Noa couldn’t see him, but he could feel him. The breath. Hot. Too close. Brushing against his ear like smoke curling in the dark. That voice low, rasping, crawling up from a grave it should have stayed buried in.

Cassian.

The name struck through his skull like glass breaking inside his head. A wound ripped open all over again. Fresh. Raw. Bleeding.

The blackout was total. Not just dark total. It didn’t only steal the light. It stole the room itself. ...