Damien eliminated target number seven on the fifth night – a supply officer who'd been redirecting military provisions to demon forces. Made it look like a warehouse accident, crushed under falling crates he'd supposedly been inspecting alone.
Clean. No witnesses.
He was becoming remarkably good at murder.
The thought should have disturbed him. Instead, he noted it as a useful skill development.
He returned to the residence near dawn, exhausted from the night's work. Seria and Elara were still asleep, unaware their partner had spent the last six hours staging an elaborate accidental death.
Damien cleaned up, burned the blood-stained clothes, and slipped into bed between them. Their warmth helped ground him, the anchor bonds pushing back some of the corruption's cold efficiency.
Not enough to make him feel guilty about the killings. But enough to remember why he was doing this – protecting them, protecting the Empire, eliminating threats before they could cause more damage.
