Raphael Earhart
Slowly, I approached Kiall, who lay battered on the ground, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine once more. He turned his head toward me with deliberate slowness, never breaking his gaze. Despite the brutal beating, he didn't look broken. That fact both impressed me and irritated me.
I had no intention of killing him—not really. But that look—unwavering, self-assured, unshaken in his own strength—unsettled me.
Alea stepped forward, ready to raise her hand and declare the victor, but I stopped her with a slight motion.
Kiall's lips parted, his voice hoarse, strained—
— Why didn't you kill me?
— If you had truly fought to end my life, I might have, — I answered evenly.
His split lips twitched into a faint smile, his voice regaining its usual courtesy, as if nothing had happened. He had already realized that his deception had failed.