For a long moment, Marcus simply looked at Alpheo. No accusation moved his features, no resentment curled his lips. There was only a deep and bone-soaked tiredness, the kind a man earned after climbing out of grave after grave and finding the world still demanding he dig another.
He was tired.
That Alpheo had long realised.
"Yeah… I figured," the bed-ridden man said at last, exhaling through a sigh that fluttered into a weak little chuckle. "Gonna die in the field. That's my destiny, I guess. I've got to make it right for the boys."
"I'm going to make it right with you too, Marcus," Alpheo insisted, forcing conviction into his voice as though he could mold truth with tone alone. "You're a hero."
Marcus snorted, not derisively, but with the kind of soft amusement a man uses when humoring a child who doesn't know better."Nah...you are wrong, Cap. But that's all right."
There was no venom in the words.
