DROP.
DROP.
DROP.
Inside his mind, the steady drip of water echoed endlessly, pulling him back toward consciousness.
With effort, Kieran's heavy eyelids parted. A chill crept across his palm, forcing his senses to stir. He pushed himself up, startled to see a thin pool of water rippling beneath him.
'Where… am I?' Kieran wondered, jolting to his feet.
A sharp pain surged through his skull, making him clutch his head. He winced as fragments of memory stabbed their way back.
And then it came—what he had done.
He had killed someone.
The flashes were clear now: Frank's screams, his desperate pleas, the pitiful begging that filled the air.
But pity? No. Not even an ounce of it lingered in Kieran's chest.
Instead, disgust simmered there… and beneath it, a dark, quiet satisfaction.
He had killed Frank. And he felt no remorse.
How could he?
