Fran surrendered herself to Gorjarn, then watched as he destroyed Jackson anyway. She woke gasping for breath, the feel of the blade he’d killed her with still chilly and painful in her chest.
She paced the town from dusk until the moment Gorjarn for shouted her, noting everything, and then let him kill her again.
The teenager watched her through every incarnation, her eyes so wide, her jaw so set. Fran watched the teen, in turn. It was a shitty way to make a plan, but it was what she had.
She woke up at two past midnight, her chest burning. Gorjarn didn’t get any more creative with his murder, at least.
She was ready.
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