To Zephyrion's delight, Ingrid was called away for an important task before he could answer.
She paused for a moment, as though weighing something. Zephyrion silently hoped he wouldn't have to respond. Eventually, she sighed.
"We'll talk later. I have to go."
Though her voice carried the unmistakable firmness that this wasn't over.
The call ended, and Zephyrion slumped onto the bed, turning the question over and over again in his mind.
Truth was, he'd already made his peace with killing. A necessity. A path toward his goal. Nothing else. It was kill or be killed in their world, after all.
Certainly, some were harder to kill than others, and for reasons completely unknown to him, they left his heart aching and his thoughts muddled. Others, however, were frighteningly easy, so easy they felt no different from livestock. The sanguines belonged to the latter category.
'Why did I hesitate?'
