After the brutal beating left Viktor a broken, bloodied heap twitching on the stone floor—ribs caved, face a pulped mess of swelling bruises and split flesh—Lily knelt swift beside my chair.
I cried as she gave me a pained look, closing her eyes for a seconf before opening them.
Her blood-splattered hands surprisingly gentle now as she peeled the duct tape from my lips with careful, stinging tugs that ripped faint hairs but freed my breath, then dug two fingers into my raw mouth to fish out the sodden rag-gag crammed deep, letting it slap wet and foul to the ground.
Her deft fingers moved next to the tight ropes, sawing through each knotted coil one by one with a small folding blade flicked from her jacket pocket,
