The dust-choked air carried a faint, coppery smell.
Isla's ankles were already weak from prior injuries, and the fresh wound only made everything worse. Sweat beaded across her forehead, her whole body trembling from the pain.
The man wielding the blade complained it was too dull to do the job cleanly casual, offhand, like he was discussing kitchen equipment instead of maiming someone.
Isla stared back at him, eyes bloodshot, teeth gritted. Terrified as she was, she refused to beg.
The moment I show weakness, that's exactly when it gets worse.
She held her breath, forcing down every sound of pain.
As the man leaned in for another cut, Isla gathered every ounce of strength left in her body. Ignoring the fresh pain, she twisted sharply and drove her heel straight into his eye.
"AH!" H
