Chapter twenty.

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"If you had a choice between killing or being killed,

What would you choose?"

What would you choose?"

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"WHERE. THE. HELL. AM. I." Astrid's voice was a piece of wood against sand paper, so hoarse that Austin was sure she had to force the word out of absolute pain. The question was more of an order than a question—

Her entire throat was cover in a plaster and her left hand had a sling on it, it physically seemed impossible to lift someone by their throat with a single hand.

"Someone grab her!" Austin glared at the audacity of the woman, who was pointing her finger towards Astrid.

"Stop it, Ash!" Austin was near her, careful not to touch any of her bruises. They looked nasty.

She didn't budge, did not even blink or even show a sign that she heard him. Could she even hear him?

Instead, her grip tightened around the woman's throat, her knuckles turning white and the woman's face turning red.

"Ash!" Austin yelled at her, grabbing her hand which was around the woman's throat, "Leave her, Ash."

Astrid tilted her head towards him, her empty, tear-filled gaze promised death, and yet—

Yet it was the most emotion she had shown in the short time he had known her.

"Come on," Austin hoped she would agree and just lay back down on the bed— a wishful thinking. She looked, no, analyzed him head-to-toe, and then looked back to his face.

She rolled her eyes and looked back to the woman.

For fuck's sake—

"You don't recognize me, do you?" He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

Astrid didn't move, though. Neither did she show any sign of recognition nor did she show a sign that she heard him.

Her grip loosened, around the her neck but her hand remained there.

She scowled.

"Leave," Her hoarse voice was an answer to the woman and she was never more thankful to any person more than she was to Austin.

"Thank you," The woman said before casting a pitying look towards Astrid and silently leaving the room.

"The show's over, get out." Astrid croaked.

It was hard for Astrid to decipher what she was feeling. Was it regret that she killed Ajax? Or the desperation  to help him but she couldn't? Or the reminder that she still was as helpless as she was on her first day at the agency?

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