Rafe moved like a shadow slipping between cracks in the battlefield.
His presence was barely noticeable until it was already too late.
His daggers flashed in tight and efficient arcs as he cut down Michael's men one after another with clean and deliberate motions that showed no hesitation.
These were people who had fought beside him not long ago, people who had trusted him in the middle of battle and their daily lives, yet none of that reflected in his actions as his blades sank into their bodies with the same cold precision he used against any enemy.
One of them turned just in time to see him and his eyes widened in disbelief as recognition struck him.
"Rafe… what are you doing?!" his voice broke in confusion and shock as he staggered back.
But Rafe only smiled in response, a calm and almost amused expression that didn't match the blood staining his hands.
