Evelyn stood in front of Yuri's crumpled body, her shadow falling over him like a silent judgment.
For a long moment, she didn't say anything.
She just looked down at him—at the broken, bleeding figure who had pushed her this far. Her fingers flexed around the grip of her bow, knuckles tightening, jaw clenched.
Yuri coughed again, his breaths shallow and wet.
"…You think you've won?" he rasped, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.
Evelyn didn't reply immediately.
Then she knelt beside him, her voice cold and quiet.
"No," she said. "I know I didn't win."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You beat me. Fair and square."
Yuri blinked, disoriented. "What…?"
Evelyn shook her head slightly, more to herself than to him.
"I was careless. I let my guard down. I relied too much on assumptions—on pride."
She stood again, gaze sharp, bitter.
"You would've killed me if Lucas hadn't stepped in."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Lucas watched from a distance, silent.
