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Amery had stepped back from his brother, still dazed. Words were being spoken by Grayson, but they were mostly going over his head. It registered that there was something about his tone or his meaning that should have made Amery angry, but he was too faraway to give it much thought.

His focus, instead, was the blade in his brother's limp grip. A shiny blade. A blade easily within his reach.

Before Amery himself even had time to realize what he was doing, he grabbed the blade and brought it whistling down from Grayson's shoulder to his rib in one fluid motion, throwing it into a corner with a clatter.

Panting and doubled up with pain and effort, he wiped the sweat and blood from the corner of his mouth and groaned.

"There," he spat. "We're even."

And then staggered into the wall, clutching at the open wound.