Andrea screamed before Nero truly began.
That was how Sylvia knew it would be worse than she imagined.
Nero's hand closed around Andrea's throat, not choking him, not yet, but holding him in place with the calm cruelty of a prince who had decided mercy was no longer politically useful. His other hand rose toward Sylvia.
"Do not move," Nero said.
Sylvia wanted to say something brave, but nothing came out.
The air around them spiraled around Nero's open hand.
Andrea's scream sharpened into something raw and animal as Nero reached into whatever part of him had hidden beneath stabilization for years. His body arched off the floor, broken wrist jerking uselessly, heels scraping against blood-slick stone.
"No," Andrea gasped. "No—no, you cannot—"
Nero smiled, purple eyes almost black.
"I can."
The pressure snapped, and Sylvia felt it hit her chest like a fist.
