The campfire was dead by morning. Smoke still curled up, thin and bitter, stinging Daemon's nose. His clothes stank of blood, iron, and vomit.
He sat apart from the others, sword laid across his knees. He couldn't look at it. Couldn't look at his hands. He'd scrubbed them raw in the stream, but the red felt burned in. Deep. Like it would never leave.
Selvara's voice broke the silence. "You did well."
Daemon snapped his head up.
"Well?" His voice cracked. "I butchered him. I... I couldn't even-- it wasn't clean--"
Ryn laughed, loud, unashamed. He stretched, arms over his head like he'd woken from the sweetest sleep.
"Gods, listen to him. Still whining. Still clinging to that... softness. Boy, nobody cares if it was clean. Dead is dead. That's all that matters."
Kaelen stirred the ashes with a stick. His face unreadable. His voice steady.
"You're alive. That's what matters. He isn't." He let the stick snap in half. "Learn to live with it. Or you won't last long."
Daemon wanted to scream. To stand up, throw the sword into the trees, and run until his legs gave out. But Selvara's eyes held him there. Sharp. Cold. Like chains without iron.
"You think the world cares about your guilt?" she asked.
Her tone was calm, almost soft, but it cut deeper than Ryn's laughter. "Every noble in that shining city eats while children starve. Every soldier takes bribes to look away. Every lord smiles as they slit throats behind gold doors. You want to change it?"
Daemon swallowed, hard. "Yes."
"Then blood is your only language now." Selvara leaned closer, her voice a whisper meant only for him. "And you spoke your first word last night."
The fire cracked as if to punctuate her truth.
Daemon's chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, scream no, he wasn't one of them-- but the memory of that moment, the rush, the power when the guard's life spilled out... it stuck to him. Crawled under his skin.
And he hated himself for it.
Ryn clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him forward. "Don't sulk forever, lamb. Next time, maybe you'll even enjoy it."
Daemon spun, anger flashing. "Shut up!"
Ryn just grinned, teeth sharp in the morning light. "Ahh. There it is. The beast's first growl."
Kaelen stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder. His words were flat, final. "Enough. We move at dusk. A caravan's passing near the east road. Fat nobles. Easy pickings. If you can't stomach it, boy, better leave now."
Daemon's heart dropped. Nobles. Innocents, maybe. Or maybe monsters in silk, like Selvara said. He didn't know. He didn't care. His stomach twisted anyway.
Silence.
Daemon's throat tightened. His fists clenched until nails bit deep. He wanted to walk away. Gods, he wanted to. But his body stayed seated. His legs refused to rise.
Selvara smiled, small but cruel. "He'll stay. They always stay."
The group moved like a machine, packing weapons, tying gear, preparing as though death was nothing more than a morning chore. Daemon just sat, the sword still across his knees, its edge glinting faint in the light.
A tool of death.
And now... his tool.
He closed his eyes.
But the screaming in his head didn't stop. If anything, it got louder.