Victory tasted like ash.
For days, Elias carried on—eating when ordered, moving when commanded, staring into the middle distance when no one was watching. He didn't reach for the pistol again, but the thought lingered. Always lingering.
And I felt it.
Every shred of his torment had seeped into me, fusing with my own. When he saw the faces of the dead, so did I. When he dreamt of fire and screams, so did I. His nightmares became mine.
At night, I shook awake in the trench, gasping for air, clutching my chest. The other soldiers thought Elias was breaking down. They were right. But it wasn't only him—it was me too.
Redemption wasn't free.
And the price was on my mind.