"The past does not die in silence. It waits, buried in the bones of men who believe they've moved on."
The day had settled into that rare, deceptive calm that comes after laughter. Marcus's humiliation had been an unexpected reprieve, an absurd moment of human warmth amid the ever-tightening circle of war and prophecy. But even that warmth faded quickly, replaced by the still, measured quiet that followed a storm. My laughter had burned away the haze. What remained was clarity sharp, refined, merciless. It was the kind of clarity that demanded precision, the kind that asked uncomfortable questions.
