Bradley's voice dropped into something dark—almost theatrical.
"Have you not seen this before?" he muttered, eyes gleaming strangely. "Oh, that's right… You look so young. Consider this your first exposure to the real world. Cruel and barbaric things happen behind the scenes every day. You just haven't bothered to look."
He nodded toward the limp figure of Therley, still tied, blood-slick rope tight against his skin.
"It would be better to kill him before he regains consciousness. Why don't you go ahead?"
And just like that—he handed you a half of a hedge clipper.
Clean. Sharp. Heavy with purpose. A perfect weapon to kill.
Your fingers curled around its cool handle. You looked at Therley's pale neck, vulnerable and exposed, so easy to slice through…-
Wait… What were you thinking?!
"A… no… I can't!!! I… can't." Your feet shuffled backward, your stomach churning.
Bradley's tone didn't waver. "What? It's not like we'll eat him. If it makes you feel better, we can feed him to the animals. Some of them are starving."
"That makes it even worse…" you whispered, too shaken to notice the rustle beside the shed.
You didn't realize wolves had a very good sense of hearing.
And you hadn't noticed that Trida was nearby, listening to every part of your conversation.
She had heard it all.
Therley's breathing remained shallow. His head stayed still, slackened but intact. The ropes around his body glistened, stained dark red. You winced.
Bradley turned back to you, voice lower, more dangerous.
"It's either him… or you."
This no longer felt like a simple fairy tale.
It felt very real.