So why… why was I hesitating?
I let out a slow, steady sigh, lowering my blade by degrees rather than forcing the strike. If my danger sense was telling me not to finish the fox, then I'd be a fool to ignore it.
That skill had dragged me back from the brink more times than I cared to count—too many close calls, too many moments where survival came down to trusting it without question. This was not the moment to start second-guessing its warnings.
My gaze stayed locked on the fox. It coughed weakly, the sound wet and rattling, a spatter of blood staining the ground beneath its muzzle.
Aigoo… it didn't look like it had much time left. Every tremor running through its body seemed smaller than the last, every breath a little shallower, like the light inside it was flickering out grain by grain.
Killing it would have been mercy. Quick. Clean. A far kinder end than letting it bleed out on cold dirt.
