I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to live—to bear the truth and suffer its weight for the rest of her life.
"You—!"
The policeman’s face turned crimson with fury. His anger made him lunge forward as if to drag me away, but his superior intervened.
"Get a grip," the captain barked, pushing the enraged officer aside. He sighed and turned to another officer. "Find the doctor. Ask when Elysia will wake up—or if there’s any way to wake her sooner."
I stood there, still as stone, waiting.
Perhaps it was divine irony—or fate’s cruel hand—but just as the officer left, Elysia’s eyes fluttered open.
The door to the ward creaked open, and she slowly turned her head toward the sound.
When her eyes locked onto mine, they burned with a hatred so fierce it felt like it could pierce through me.
"Thaddeus," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You killed your parents? Are you insane?"
Her words came sharper, dripping with venom. "They treated you so well! How could you? How could you live with yourself?"
Her anger swelled, and she tried to lunge at me, to strangle me, to end me. But her legs—her severed legs—failed her. She collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
Seeing her in that pitiful state, a bitter sense of satisfaction surged through me. My heart raced with the dark pleasure of revenge.
Tears streamed down my face, yet I laughed uncontrollably, my body shaking with raw, twisted emotion.
"Elysia," I said, my voice cold and cutting. "What right do you have to say that to me? What identity do you use to lecture me about loyalty?"
