“Thank you, Gisele,” he replied, staring deeply into my eyes. “That was amaz—”
The rest of the words caught in this throat, unable to escape around the cold steel I’d just thrust into his neck. His eyes went wide. I’m sure mine were as well. He fell back, ripping the knife handle from my grasp. He clutched at his throat, his legs thrashing wildly, the knife still protruding from his neck. Tate’s gurgling and thrashing were the only sounds. It was as if every nocturnal creature in the woods had stopped to watch the boy in his final throes. Even the wind had stilled. The boy managed to wrench the knife free. When he did so, blood spurted up from his throat, covering us both. Had I been thinking rationally, I might’ve worried how I would explain the bloodstains to my parents. Instead, I was
