Noah
Noah didn’t answer right away. He studied the suspicion in her glare, the pain she tried and failed to hide, the way she still bared her fangs even with blood pooling beneath her. From all his time on the tundra, he had become accustomed to the fact that survival rarely looked polite.
“Because if I wanted you dead,” he said at last, voice worn at the edges, ”you would be.” His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. The Sentinel hadn’t stopped on accident.
He didn’t take his glacier eyes off of her. ”Ending you on a cave floor because you made a bad call and I hit back harder is not balance. That’s indulgence. You took your shot. You paid for it. That’s where it stops.”
He nudged the flask a hair closer with the toe of his boot, then stepped back again, careful, contained. Mercy didn’t need agreement, and Noah had never followed a god of death.
“Because if I wanted you dead,” he said at last, voice worn at the edges, ”you would be.” His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath. The Sentinel hadn’t stopped on accident.
He didn’t take his glacier eyes off of her. ”Ending you on a cave floor because you made a bad call and I hit back harder is not balance. That’s indulgence. You took your shot. You paid for it. That’s where it stops.”
He nudged the flask a hair closer with the toe of his boot, then stepped back again, careful, contained. Mercy didn’t need agreement, and Noah had never followed a god of death.
Am I a prisoner to instincts or do my thoughts just live as free
And detached as boats to the dock?
And detached as boats to the dock?
