At dawn, the trench was quiet again. Too quiet.
Elias sat slumped against the dirt wall, his rifle across his knees, his eyes staring at nothing. I felt the pull—the rope, the pistol, the end—but his lips moved, whispering something I almost missed.
"Peace. I just want peace."
It wasn't a plea. It was a bargain. His mind had built its courtroom, where the sentence was death and the only mercy was silence.
I crouched, gripping his hands, speaking aloud though no one else could hear me.
"Peace doesn't come this way. You'll just trade one torment for another."
His eyes flicked toward mine, hollow but questioning.
"And what do you know of torment?" he spat.
The rooftop flashed in my mind. The fall. The pit of screams.
"Enough to know death won't free you."
For the first time, Elias didn't fight me. But his despair didn't fade either. It lingered, heavy, waiting.