From here on out, every choice he made could lead him down one of those two paths, and the difference between them was not always obvious from where he was standing. Sometimes the path to one thing looked exactly like the path to the other, until you were too far along to easily turn back.
Nero glanced down at his hands.
They were clear as ice crystals in the torchlight, without a visible blemish on them. Lyon had done excellent work. Beyond the fresh scars that marked the recent damage, his skin was clean, his fingers steady. Looking at them, you wouldn't know what they'd done. What they were capable of.
