The chamber felt smaller than it was.
The devil lounged upon his stone seat like a king, wings folded, crimson eyes glowing with mirth, while Erebus—the monstrous wolf—waited at his side. The squad was still behind him, a wall of tension and whispered disbelief, but Vance felt none of them. His world had narrowed to the pounding of his own heart and the suffocating weight of silence after his words.
I'll do it.
The sentence still echoed in his mind, as if someone else had spoken it. His lips were dry, his grip slick on the hilt of his sword. Yet it was his voice, his choice, and now every eye was on him.
It wasn't bravery. Not really. Vance knew that much. His decision hadn't sprung from noble sacrifice or the instinct of a warrior. No, his reasoning was messier, uglier.
He was afraid.
