She didn't move.
Not when he whispered her name.
Not when he shook her.
Not when he screamed so loud his voice cracked.
Mia lay in his arms like a discarded doll, her limbs limp, her once-smooth hair matted with blood, her fingers curled inward as if still grasping for something she never reached.
Alex knelt there, covered in her blood, numb to the cold seeping into his knees from the floor. His mind flailed for anything logic, thought, action. Nothing came. Only stillness. Only absence.
His sister his only light was gone.
He didn't cry.
Tears would've been a kindness. Something to drain the ache behind his ribs. But nothing came. No sobs. No screams. Just breath. Mechanical. Pointless.
Her last words circled like wolves in his head.
I didn't tell them anything.
Tell who?
Why?
He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to feel something. Warmth. Spirit. But she was cooling by the second. The wound at her stomach, jagged and torn, had begun to crust. The blood under her pooled into the grooves between the wood planks, dark and thick like oil.
He sat back, the world tilting slightly. His fingers trembled in the red-streaked air.
A smell hit him then.
Sweat. Smoke. Leather. Ale.
Boots.
Outside. Crunching on dead grass.
Alex froze.
Three sets. Maybe four.
Voices followed. Slurred. Loud. One of them laughing.
" told ya the bitch would break "
"Worth every coin. Fought like a damn cat."
"She was barely fifteen, man."
"Don't ruin it with numbers, Gorrin."
Laughter.
Alex's muscles moved on their own. He laid Mia down gently carefully, as if she might wake if jostled and stepped over her like a statue sliding off its pedestal.
His fingers found the dagger at his hip. Shaky. Dull. But it would have to do.
He positioned himself beside the door. Breath even. Eyes flat.
The door swung open.
"Oi, bet the little rat's still cryin' "
Alex plunged the blade forward.
It met resistance a belly. The man's eyes went wide, mouth opening to shout, but only blood came out. Alex twisted. Pulled. The body collapsed at his feet.
The other three froze.
The second man short, bearded, with burn scars reached for his axe.
Alex didn't wait.
He lunged at the scarred one, slashing with reckless speed. The dagger bounced off armor. The man backhanded him Alex crashed into the table, ribs screaming.
The laughter was gone now. Only cursing.
"Fucker's alive?! He was supposed to be dead!"
"He just killed Varn!"
"Shut up and get him!"
They swarmed.
Alex rolled away as a boot crashed down where his skull had been. He stabbed upward caught a thigh. The man screamed. Blood hit Alex's face. He grinned.
Something in him had snapped. Broken. Or maybe it was born.
He used the scream as cover. Slashed at an unprotected calf. Bit into someone's hand when they tried to grab him. They kicked him again hard. A rib cracked. But he didn't stop.
They weren't men.
They were meat.
They were filth.
They were alive , and she wasn't.
He got one more in the neck before a heavy club slammed into the back of his head. Light exploded. His vision blurred. He collapsed to one knee.
The third man brought his foot down on Alex's back. Pain lit his spine.
Then a voice. A voice he hadn't heard yet. Smooth. Cruel.
"Well, well. Look what the rats dragged back."
Alex coughed blood. Turned his head. His eye, half-swollen, found the man standing in the doorway.
Different from the others.
He wore a clean black coat, fitted gloves, and a silver clasp at his throat in the shape of a wolf's fang. His face was pale and sharp. His eyes were bored.
But he smiled when he saw Alex.
"A survivor. Unexpected," he said. "I suppose you want revenge?"
Alex didn't answer.
He spat blood at the man's boots.
The smile widened.
"Good," the man said. "Revenge makes you interesting."
The club came down again.
And the world went black.