Page 186 of Warlord's Plaything

Twice.

He doesn’t move.

And that’s when it hits me.

Like a blade straight through the ribs.

Like a death sentence I never saw coming.

Xyron is dead.

The world is still burning, still crumbling, still shifting under the implications what we have done.

But I don’t care.

The war?—

The war means nothing without him.

From when I was a child, since I learned that strength was the only thing that mattered?—

I break.

I shatter.

And I let the grief take me.

I grip his face, my hands trembling, my nails gripping into his skin like I can force life back into him.

"Please."

The word is nothing more than a whisper.

"Please, you stubborn bastard. You don’t get to die. Not now. Not after everything."

My voice wobbles, the sobs coming too fast, too strong.

"I hate you."

I press my forehead harder against his, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I hate you for making me care."

My hands fist in his hair, pulling, as if the pain will jolt him awake.

"I hate you for being the only thing in this gods-damned world that ever made me feel?—"

My breath catches, my throat tightening so hard it hurts.

"I love you, you fucking bastard, so don’t you dare?—"

I stop.

The words hang between us, too late, too raw, too broken.

There is no answer.

Only silence.

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