Swallowing his rage did not extinguish it. He turned his back on the VIP carriage and returned to the grim work of stripping the dead.
Body number four had the tattoo on its collarbone. Body number seven had it scarred into its forearm. By the time he stripped the twelfth corpse, Revan didn't even need to search for it anymore. The orchid with twisting thorns—the mark of the Garden of Eternal Bloom—was on every single one of them.
'Fuck, It was infuriating'
'I'll just ask her,' he decided, letting out a long, heavy breath.
'Properly. No shouting. Just talk.'
He forced his numb fingers to finish tying the bundles of coats and rations.
Ten minutes later, burdened with the heavy supplies, Revan turned around and made his way back to the shattered hull.
The VIP carriage had tipped roughly fifteen degrees during the derailment, turning its once-pristine interior into a crooked parody of luxury.
