Alekin, though strong in posture, looked broken. This was a farewell, and he knew it. The kind that split a heart in two. Hector knew it too. He had felt that exact ache. The day his mother died… and again, a year later, when their world went to hell. The rebellion had torched their village. He had run through fire, desperate to find one person, Lora. Her house was ablaze. No signs of her, only screams and smoke.
Now, standing here, he looked at her. And she was already looking at him.
She had been watching him the whole time.
His heart thudded strangely in his chest.
"Enough," Benkin muttered, his voice cracking. "Please, end this miserable farewell already. Alekin, be cautious, my death makes plenty of people happy."
He closed his eyes. He had said everything that mattered. Words now only deepened the pain. It was time. Time to surrender, to the judgment of the Fae.
