Sunlight bled through the thick curtains of Solaine’s dimly lit bedroom, casting faint gold against the wooden floor. He lay sprawled at the center, eyes open but unfocused, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. Every few seconds, the quiet was punctuated by a dull thud—the back of his head knocking against the cold floorboards. A steady rhythm. A quiet, numbing pain.
Slowly, his trembling hands lifted into his vision, his breath catching at the sight of the bloodied scrap of fabric clenched between his fingers. His vision blurred.
And then—
The sound of her scream.
It echoed in his skull, sharp as the snap of the beast’s jaws. His mind replayed it mercilessly—the image of her slender frame collapsing, crimson spilling freely, her lifeblood painting the battlefield.
His breath hitched.
“…Luna.”
A whisper. Barely a sound.