T W E N T Y T W O
I throw my Dad’s knife with everything I have, and in that moment, the crowd holds its breath, completely silent. The blade glimmers in the light as it goes flying end over end, through the air, racing. It is the strongest and most accurate throw I’ve ever made. I already know it will find its target. And that it will mean certain death.
In moments, I will be free.
A second later, the sound of metal meeting flesh punctures the air, and I see that it was, indeed, a perfect strike.
The entire crowd gasps, horrified.
For once in my life, I have ignored my father’s advice. I have not killed Ben.
I have killed their leader.
*
The knife lodges in the center of the leader’s forehead; I’d managed to throw it perfectly, just high enough to clear the fence, by a millimete
