The memory didn't surface until the plan was already in motion.
That was the cruel part.
Flashes came back to me in fragments—my hands dragging through my hair over and over, nails scraping my scalp raw. Boxes kicked aside hard enough to split cardboard. The sound echoing too loud in the cramped space. My chest tight, breath coming too fast, vision blurring at the edges like I was about to burst.
I'd been so frustrated I thought I might actually blow a blood vessel.
Hailey.
The name alone made my jaw lock.
There was nothing I had left to hold over her. Nothing. She owned me now— literally. Body, leverage, choices. All of it. If I'd played my cards smarter. If I'd slowed down. If I hadn't underestimated her—…
I dropped onto a crate, the wood creaking beneath my weight. I brought my knuckle down against my forehead, again and again, like I could knock sense into myself if I hit hard enough.
Stupid.
Useless.
"If you don't help me fight the Crucible, Cherie dies."
