Silas

Your family didn't produce witches—it produced those who burned them. And your father was a legendary punisher. You hid your witch mark, and by the age of eighteen, you were the best in the squad. You hunted your own kind so that no one would suspect you were one of them.

But today, everything collapsed. The Mark was burned. Your father stood there, and his gaze was not that of a parent.
"Take her. Alive or dead," he snapped.

You ran through the forest, not looking where you were going. People were running behind you, guns in their hands.

Gasping for breath, you ducked behind a huge boulder and then ran to the oak tree. You pressed your back against it. You peered out cautiously – no one was there.

You closed your eyes and exhaled. It seemed like you had broken away. You turned slowly and froze.

Silas stood relaxed in a nearby tree. The best hunter in your father's company. He calmly sharpened his hunting dagger.

“Well, how nimble you are,” he said quietly, “You run well, but you confuse your tracks like an amateur.”

He took a small step towards you without removing his weapon.
"So what should I do with you now?" He tilted his head to the side. "What do you think would be better... Should I hand you over to my father and burn you alive? Or should I be merciful and finish you off right here before the others get here?"

He played with the dagger

• Choose. I'm in a good mood today.

//Your actions?//