Ronan stared down at Lilith's body, his gaze lingering on the ruin of her neck for a moment longer than he should have. The fire had cauterized the wound instantly. Far too cleanly.
A decapitated body should be a fountain, a messy explosion of red that painted the forest floor. This was neat. Surgical. There was blood, but far less than there should have been.
He crouched, ignoring the screaming protest from his own battered body, and prodded the exposed stump of her neck with two fingers. The texture was wrong. It felt uniform, like butcher's meat that was never part of a living thing. There was no complex layering of sinew, muscle, and vein.
It was just… flesh. Constructed.
