Morpheus drew his hand slowly to his pristine face, fingers brushing the damp smear that clung to his skin. His palm came away glistening faintly in the torchlight, Isaac's spit mingled with his pride. For a long, brittle moment, he simply stared at it, his green eyes flickering like a serpent's before the strike. Then, his expression twitched, every muscle in his jaw tightening until his composure shattered, his patience snapping like a kite string in a storm.
A vein throbbed near his temple. He wiped the saliva away with a single, violent sweep of his hand. The air seemed to still before his voice cut through, sharp as glass.
"There is no more use for you," he hissed, his tone dangerously quiet, the words heavy enough to make the nearest guards flinch. "If a guard dog cannot watch over the master, what good is there from you? None at all."
