The memories flooded me once more—her taunts, her manipulations, her role in the rise of the evil that had brought so much suffering. And then, there was my own memory, Dravis Granger's, knowing all too well what she would become if left unchecked. I couldn't afford to be merciful.
I tightened my grip.
Armandra's small neck felt fragile beneath my fingers, the skin soft but unnaturally cold. Her once proud, commanding voice had turned into nothing more than a raspy breath, each inhale strained as if her body itself resisted the inevitable end. Her eyes, however, held everything. At first, there was the familiar hatred, those sharp glimmers of malice she had always shown me, even when she was the professor—intelligent, calculating, and dangerous. But then, as the pressure increased, that hatred faltered. The gleam turned into something else.
Fear.
