Myles left Rafe's corpse behind without sparing it another glance, his steps were hollow as he moved across the ruined battlefield. Nothing inside him rose to meet what he had just done. There was no triumph waiting at the end of that act, or satisfaction that could settle the weight pressing down in his chest.
Rafe was dead, but Daniel and Clara were still dead, and that truth refused to change no matter how clean or decisive the outcome had been.
The absence they left behind felt heavier than anything else. It made the idea of victory feel empty and distant, almost meaningless.
"At least… I let it out…"
The thought surfaced quietly, carrying a dull kind of acceptance rather than comfort. The anger that had been building inside him had finally found release, even if it had not fixed anything. It lingered there for a moment before another thought followed, sharper and colder.
"I should've made him suffer more…"
