Daniel looked down. His hands were shaking. They were wet and sticky. It was red blood. Human blood.
A few feet away, Bran lay on the white tiles. He was not moving. His face was swollen and purple, a mess of bruises and cuts.
His nose was flattened against his face. One of his legs was twisted at a strange angle. But his chest was moving.
It was a shallow, ragged movement, but it was there. He was breathing.
The silence that had filled the hallway broke. The students who had been frozen in shock suddenly woke up. The noise rushed back in like a wave.
"He's crazy," someone whispered loudly. "Did you see that? That wasn't just a punch. The air exploded," another student said, their voice trembling.
"He used a skill. He used a combat skill on a student inside the halls!" "He tried to kill him. Daniel Rivers is a murderer."
The words washed over Daniel. He heard them, but they felt far away. He didn't care what they thought.
