The morning arrived quickly.
Elias woke before the sun had fully breached the horizon of Sorgos.
He lay in the gray light, his eyes fixed on the intricate carvings of the bed's canopy. He was not distressed, nor was he crying.
The frantic need to bridge the gap between his body and Cassian's had been replaced by a quiet distance. Cassian's side of the bed was empty.
The line from the night before still echoed in the hollow spaces of his mind:
"You would have done the same."
He didn't argue with it anymore. He didn't try to formulate a defense or a counter-proof. Instead, he simply examined the statement.
If Cassian believed that—if he truly saw a mirror of his own ruthlessness in Elias—then the man Elias had been trying to reach was no longer there to be found.
Elias sat up, the silk sheets sliding off his skin.
