"You don't get to mourn what you murdered."
***
The question hung in the smoke-filled air like a blade waiting to fall.
Rhys found himself leaning forward despite his injuries. Caught up in this strange psychological duel that had replaced the physical battle he'd expected.
His training told him to use this moment to escape. To drag himself through the tunnel toward safety while the creature was distracted.
But his curiosity kept him rooted to the spot.
He needed to see how this ended.
The shaman's massive frame shuddered.
When it spoke again, its voice held the broken cadence of someone grasping at half-remembered dreams. The rage was gone entirely now. Replaced by something that sounded almost childlike in its desperate hope.
