She pulled on Penelope's hair hard enough to yank it out. Vol stood, frozen in place, his eyes narrowed. He glanced at the line where he should have been fighting. If he dove in there now, he'd secure victory, whether he had Penelope or not. He'd win the battle, but in exchange, he'd lose the war. He'd be right back to where he was before.
He should have feared that. The position he was in should have terrified him. His body knew that, he could well imagine the sort of emotions that he should have been feeling, yet it was only anger that arose in him, and anger that stayed. There was no fear. It was as though he didn't care for Penelope at all – as if he was merely angry that someone else had touched his position.
"You're… wrong," Penelope choked. The knife was truly deep now, and the force on her hair only pulled her further into it. "It's not… that…"
