What's the word?

Absinth felt the rush of air as Ollie's jaws snapped shut, narrowly missing her neck. She spun with the grace of a dancer, her eyes catching the glint of her fallen knife in the snow. Her movements were a blur, deceptive and fluid, never giving away her true intentions.

As Ollie leaped back to avoid her strike and lunged for her leg, she let him get close, baiting him with a calculated risk. The moment he committed to his attack, she twisted her body, a serpentine maneuver that allowed her to evade his grasp. In the chaos, she managed to grasp the knife, feeling its familiar weight in her jaw.

Ollie lunged again, aiming to flip her onto her back and pin her down. Maybe he noticed the knife, but it was far too late by now. Absinth moved swiftly, her muscles coiling like a snake before the strike. As his momentum carried him forward, she sidestepped, bringing the knife up in a precise, controlled arc. The blade sliced across his chest, leaving a thin, non-fatal cut just over his heart. It was a mark of their encounter, a scar to remember her by. One that earned a wicked grin from the fae’s inky lips, still clasped around the knife.

She landed lightly on her feet, her breathing steady, eyes locked onto his. The dance had ended, and she stood victorious, her body still poised for any final moves he might attempt.

wormwood