Lyerin stood on the rooftop, taking in a deep, heavy breath.
The cold morning air filled his lungs, grounding him in the moment. He exhaled slowly, trying to push away the guilt that clung to him like a dark, oppressive fog. He had always been a man of action, a man who responded to mistakes with ruthlessness, with cruelty.
That had been his way in the old world, the way he had survived. When he faltered, when he showed weakness, he would make sure that his next actions were decisive, brutal.
It was his way of compensating, of ensuring that he never felt that vulnerability again.
But this was different. Everything was different now.
The image of the blonde girl flashed in his mind—her pleading eyes, her tears, the way she had looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear.