The medical ward was silent again.
Caden sat in his wheelchair, staring at nothing, his mind churning with conflicting emotions.
Anger at Jorghan for what he'd done. Rage at his own body for failing him. Frustration with his mother for not understanding. Resentment toward Constance for treating him like a child who needed management.
But underneath all of it, buried deep where he didn't want to acknowledge it, was fear.
Fear that they were right.
That his obsession was consuming him. That he was turning into exactly the kind of broken soldier his mother had described, spiraling deeper into darkness with no way back out.
Fear that even if he did somehow manage to kill Jorghan, it wouldn't actually make anything better. That he'd still be missing a leg, still be scarred, still be broken, just with additional blood on his hands and no purpose left to pursue.
Fear that the hatred was the only thing holding him together, and if he let it go, he'd fall apart completely.
