He was the one who looked them dead in the eye and shouted with absolute conviction that he "saw the Harvest."
He was the one who insisted, with a desperate, manic urgency, that they had only forty-eight hours to save Elysium from a catastrophic end, systematically manipulating their fears and their duty, forcing them into this suicidal, god-forsaken raid on the very hospital they were strictly ordered to avoid.
"Hah…?"
Valisera's breathing voice broke, a pathetic, ragged sound escaping her blood-stained lips.
Her wide, trembling eyes slowly dragged themselves to look at Kyle, whose bruised and battered face was pressed against the sickening, fleshy floor of the cathedral.
What does this mean…?
Valisera's mind screamed, the words echoing in the hollow, shattered chambers of her sanity.
The cold realization began to spread through her veins like a paralyzing venom, far worse than the physical injuries she had sustained.
Did he lie to us?
