A street rat.
It had been a long time since anyone dared to call Ezra that. Long enough that the word felt almost foreign now, like something pulled from a life that no longer existed.
After he proved himself, his past had been quietly erased.
Or maybe it was simply ignored. Either way, people stopped seeing the boy who crawled his way up from nothing and started seeing the prince's right hand.
The captain.
The blade that stood beside Helios.
But now that he had been gone?
It seemed to have given some men the audacity to dig up old bones.
Ezra's bones.
"Suddenly quiet?" Guy asked, snickering. "You were so confident earlier. But being called a street rat shut you up that fast?"
Ezra didn't answer.
His jaw tightened just enough to ache.
His hand twitched at his side, muscle memory screaming for steel.
For the clean certainty of a blade. For the relief of ending this man's voice permanently.
