A Son on a Blade's Edge

VANESSA

The world stopped when I saw him.

Fabian—my son—his small body tense with fear as a rogue dragged him across the beach. My scream tore from my throat, primal and desperate.

"FABIAN!"

The rogue whipped around at the sound of my voice, his movements jerky and panicked. What I saw next turned my blood to ice.

A silver dagger pressed against my son's throat.

"Stay back!" the rogue shouted. His hand trembled, making the blade wobble against Fabian's delicate skin. "I'll kill him! I swear I'll kill him!"

I froze mid-stride, my bare feet sinking into the hot sand. Every maternal instinct screamed at me to charge forward, to tear this man apart for daring to touch my child. But the rational part of my brain—the part not consumed by blind panic—knew better.

One wrong move, and that blade would slice through my baby's throat.

"It's okay," I called, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the hurricane of fear inside me. "Let's talk about this. You don't have to hurt him."