Still. Be still.
The man stopped mid-step, only part way along the bed. Still too close to the door. If Wren moved now, the man might see the motion and have time to react, time to catch him before he made it to the doorway. But maybe the man had realized that Wren wasn’t in the bed. Maybe it was already too late. Wren felt cold sweat break over him as he fought the indecision. Try to run for it now? Hold still just a little longer?
The man’s head snapped around. Now it was too late. The night-light illuminated only the right half of the assailant’s face, leaving the left blank in shadow. His right eye fixed on Wren, and for a long, electric moment, the two stared at each other.
It was impossible to make out the man’s features distinctly in the dim light, but Wren could tell he was young. His face seemed smooth and soft. Wren couldn’t see the knife.
“Please, don’t,” Wren said.
After a moment, Wren saw the young man’s shoulders go slack.
“I have to,” the man whispered, his voice thin and light. Not a man at all. A girl. The knife inched upwards, where it caught the light. She rolled the blade over in her hand. Then again, to herself, “I have to.”
She shook her head slightly, and in the half-light Wren saw the gleam of her eye disappear. She was looking down, watching the knife blade continue its uneven roll, or maybe she’d closed her eyes. Considering. Wrestling. Her shoulders came up again, tensed. Wren knew what was coming next. He brought his hands up in front of him, palms out, started to rise slowly.
Help, flashed through his mind, help!
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at him again, “but I don’t have–”
She didn’t finish the sentence. In that instant, Wren launched himself from the corner and drove the hard edge of his right hand into her left wrist, aiming for the nerve there, just as he’d been taught. A split-second later he buried the top of his head into her lower abdomen, just above the pelvis. Together they crashed into the bedframe, and Wren felt a sharp impact on the back of his head that made stars explode in his vision.
They hit the floor, and Wren rolled to his left, found his feet. The room spun. The door wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Where did it go?
There. Closed. He leapt just as the girl snatched at his foot and caught it for a split second. Wren went sprawling again at the foot of the bed and heard a metallic scrape against the floor behind him. She still had the knife.
He scrambled, fumbled the door handle with fear-numbed hands, felt her rising close behind. She was clambering over the bed. He clawed the door open and squeezed through just as she reached out and slammed the door on his ankle.
“Help!” Wren called. It was the only word that would come out as he tumbled into the hall. He skittered backwards as the door flew open. “Help!”
He scrambled back, back, back into a wall, hard. Felt strong hands clamp down on his upper arms. Lifting him. Not a wall. Someone else.
The girl stood silhouetted in the doorframe, and Wren felt himself whirling sideways as he was tossed to one side. He landed on his feet, but went down on his knees as the Someone Else stepped between him and the girl. Shielding him. He recognized the shape now. Able.
“Wren!” Cass, his mother, was running down the hall, her eyes glowing their eerie blue in the gloom. In two heartbeats, she was at his side, and then hunched in front of him, eyes on the assassin.
Wren craned around his mother for a view. The attacker was trapped, now, trapped in the doorway of Wren’s room, with Able and Mama both ready to pounce. The girl took a step backwards into his room, hands up, submissive. But she still had the knife.
She looked sad in the glow of the night-light. Trapped, defeated. Desperate. Wren recognized the look. Remembered it well. It was how Mama used to look, before Three had come.
“It’s OK…” Wren started to say, but the girl was already in motion. Before anyone could react, she plunged the knife into her own stomach, just below the breastbone. A quick twist of the handle, and a dull thump sounded inside her chest. The girl doubled over, hung in an awkward pose for a moment, and then collapsed to the floor.
Lights came on in the hallway as guardsmen rushed in from both directions. Able signaled to them, and they slowed their approach, obviously relieved that they weren’t too late. Late, but not too late. Able moved to the girl and crouched near her warily, holding himself ready for any sudden ambush.
Cass turned part way around and pulled Wren in front of her so she could look at him without taking her eyes completely off of Able and the girl. She went down on one knee, cradled his face in her hands, searched his eyes.
“Are you alright, baby?” she asked. “Did she hurt you?”