Cain would swallow his saliva, his throat dry as if every drop of blood inside him had momentarily forgotten how to flow. His body felt heavy, not from wounds or exhaustion, but from the invisible pressure of choice.
If he said no now, even a fool would notice something was wrong.
Cornelia was not a fool. She never had been. So he had no other option but to stand there, stiff, letting the moment crawl forward like an executioner taking his time.
He realized, with an unpleasant clarity, that even in his past life, she had always wanted him to change. Maybe he had misunderstood her all along.
The memories he carried, the irritation, the arguments, the sharp words exchanged in blood-lit halls, all of them twisted under a new light.
The reason she had kept defending Cedrick and the Vanguard was not because she valued them over Cain. It was because Cain, back then, had been a jealous mess, suspicious of every shadow and every conversation that did not include him.
