The choice presented itself, tearing him apart—Maggie, trembling and saved, or Alka, motionless and provocative. The mission or the truth. For a suspended instant, the two weights oscillated in the balance of his soul.
Then, he turned towards Maggie. Towards Elisa. Towards Zirel and Julius, their faces tense with urgency.
"We're leaving," he growled, his voice hoarse with contained frustration.
It was the right decision. The decision of a soldier. But Alka was still smiling, as if she had hoped for the other.
They turned around, Zirel and Julius flanking the staggering Maggie, Elisa and Dylan acting as rearguard. They had covered barely ten meters when Alka's voice shot out, clear and sharp as glass.
"You always flee the inevitable, Dylan. Like your father."
The word "father" acted as a detonator. A black, repressed rage exploded behind Dylan's eyes. Reason evaporated. There was only this contemptuous silhouette and the visceral need to silence her.
