Logan laughed. He took the whiskey from Beta Benjamin and had a sip. "How many men have you killed so far? Do you remember the number?" he asked.
His question took Beta Benjamin by surprise; he fell silent.
"Can't think of a number? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Two hundred? Or are they uncountable?"
Beta Benjamin nearly choked on his spit. "I didn't mean to kill them," he mumbled.
"You didn't mean to? I heard the first person you killed was your birth father. Is that information correct? It's not like I'm judging you, but killing your father is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
Beta Benjamin lowered his eyes and remained quiet.
"What were your father's last words to you? Do you remember them?"
"No," he whispered.
"You don't. What about your mother? Do you remember her?"
"I don't; I barely remember her face," he confessed.
Logan nodded. "You've lived longer than your peers; you've lived long."
