After the first few lessons, he couldn’t tolerate my lying. He struggled to know if he’d made progress or not.

He hadn’t.

No matter what he did to me, I couldn’t stop what was so natural. I felt what others did. I couldn’t switch it off. How could I when I didn’t know how to control it?

So he’d upped his efforts, forcing me to hunt with him and shoot hapless rabbits and deer. He threatened to hurt Kestrel. He brought Jasmine in to watch. For a time, he didn’t touch her. Just having her there made me work doubly hard.

In every lesson, she never said a word—merely watched me with sad eyes and hugged herself while Cut tried everything for me to mimic his inner calmness. To accept his ruthlessness. To become him in every way possible.

For a while, I willed it to work. I got better at lying, and Cut began to believe he’d ‘cured’ me. But then he hooked me up to the lie detector and heart monitor. And I couldn’t bullshit any longer.

Jasmine didn’t look up as she huddled at my father’s feet. He’d slapped her repeatedly; he’d used his hands rather than blades, forcing me to focus on his mind rather than hers.

Become the predator, not prey.

Embrace ruthlessness, not suffering.

Become the monster, not the victim.

The pinging of the heart machine wouldn’t stop shredding my hope and showing Cut just how hopeless I was. I couldn’t be fixed. It was impossible.

“Please, let her go.”

Cut swiped a handkerchief over his face, looking disgustedly at me. “I’ll let her go when you can learn to control it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can!”

“I’m telling you—I can’t!”

As we roared at each other, Jasmine scuttled away. The dust from the barn layered her pink dress, staining her black tights. It was winter and frost decorated the glass, billowing our breath with little plumes of smoke.

Keep him yelling.

The longer I kept him occupied, the more chance Jaz had to escape.

I glared at Jasmine, willing her to get to her feet and run. Run out the door and never come back. She nodded quickly, understanding my silent command.

Cut stormed toward me, grabbing my cheeks and shoving my face toward the out-of-control monitor. I’d always had an irregular heartbeat whenever there was too much emotion to contain. My heart felt others; it was only natural it tried to skip into their beat, to mimic their pulses.

“What the fuck am I going to do with you, Jet? Are you ever going to get better?”

My cheeks couldn’t move beneath his pinching hold; I did my best to speak without spitting. “Yes, I—I promise.”

“I’ve heard you promise before and it never comes true.”

Over his shoulder, I silently cheered as Jasmine shot to her dainty legs and tiptoed toward the double-born doors. So close…keep going.

“What else can I do to make you focus inward and not be so fucking weak all the time?” Cut prodded my chest where my teenage heart thundered. “Tell me, Jethro, so we can end this charade.”

Jasmine’s hands looped around the handle, yanking on the heavy exit.

Yes, run. Go.

The wood grunted like a beast hunting in the woods.

No!

Cut spun around. His eyes bugged as he dropped his hold. I couldn’t move, hanging on the rack as he balled his hands and strode to the table where things of nightmares rested. “Where do you think you’re going, Jazzy?”

She plastered herself against the door, shaking her head.

“Run, Jaz. Run!” I struggled. “Don’t look back. Just go!”

She didn’t.

She froze as Cut picked up a black club and advanced on her.

“No!” I squirmed harder, drawing more blood, more fear.

“I’m going to teach you to control it, Jet, if it’s the last fucking thing I do.” Cut swatted the club into his hand, making goosebumps scatter over my body.

Jasmine trembled as Cut towered over her. “You love your sister. Let’s see if you can protect her by focusing for once.” His hand rose, shadowing her face with his arm.

“Run, Jaz!” I screamed, tearing through her terror and kick starting her flight. Her fear kept her mute, but a sudden resolution filled her gaze.

She ran.

Pushing off from the door, she charged around my father and darted across the barn.

Cut spun, holding the club, watching his daughter bolt from him. Only, he didn’t let her go. He gave chase.

“No!” I couldn’t do a thing as he stormed after his child and wrenched his arm back to strike.

“Jasmine!”

And then it was all over.

The club struck her back.

The force sent her tumbling head over heels.

Her little shoes clattered against the floor as her skirts flew over her face. She came to a stop facing me, her little eyes glassing with tears, locked on mine above her.

For a second, she just lay there, blinking in shock, cataloguing her hurt. Then, the thickest, hardest, all-consuming wave I’d ever felt washed over me. Her pain drenched me. Her agony infected me. Everything she felt—her childish whims, her hopeful wishes—they all rammed down my throat and made me sick.

I vomited as Jasmine burst into tears.

Her screams echoed around us, slipping out the door, licking around the trees and rising to the crescent moon above.

I cried with her. Because I knew what’d happened as surely as she did.

Winter had watched this atrocity. Frost hadn’t prevented it. Ice had let it happen. And a blizzard began deep in my soul.