Hearing Jessica's gentle words and quiet encouragement grounded him. Something in her voice brought him back. The storm inside began to calm.
His heart, which had been pounding like a drum moments ago, gradually returned to a steady rhythm.
The pressure in his chest began to be lightened itself.
He looked down at his hands, still stained with traces of blood, but now they were held tightly in Jessica's grasp.
Her warmth reached through the cold that had settled over him, "Thank you," he said softly, his voice sincere.
His eyes that was once sharp and hardened from the fight grew softer.
He had nearly lost himself in that moment. The weight of taking a life, even in self-defense, wasn't something easy to carry.
It wasn't something you could just brush off. Not unless you were a psychopath. Since life wasn't supposed to be like this.
From the ground, the tattooed man spat some saliva to the side.
"Pleh… Pleh…"
