[It’s funny how Vander had always said he started a new life by turning away from killing, from using violence as a tool. All it had ever seemed to accomplish was cause him more problems, worse problems, and he’d managed to forge another path for himself without it. And yet here he was, living yet another new sort of life—new home, new role, new everything—and somehow he’d already fallen back into old habits. Maybe some things never change after all.
Silco always had brought out the worst in him, hadn’t he?
The whole ordeal was over faster than Vander had really expected. No need to hold on longer, to be sure, nothing but an unceremonious and abrupt end as the weight in his arms vanished. Just the clink of crystal on stone and only the sound of his own tense breathing to fill the silence that followed it.
There was the brief flash of satisfaction and then—nothing. The furious heat still beat in his chest, the anger hardly assuaged by his victory. The old phantom of a grudge long-held would not lay itself to rest that easily.
He pushed himself off of his knees, leaned back on his heels. Stared long and hard at the shard glittering on stone. But he couldn’t seem to make his hand reach for it. Instead he absently brushed at his arm, flinched at the sudden sting as fingers disturbed fresh knife wounds. He glanced down to find blood reddening his fingertips and his arm fielding a number of uneven, frantic cuts.
And it seemed to snap him back to reality. His head jolted up and he cast his gaze around him. Found the immediate area well clear of people, but there were still those brave or stupid enough to stay and watch the scene unfold from the periphery. What the hell had he been thinking?
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Silco always had brought out the worst in him, hadn’t he?
The whole ordeal was over faster than Vander had really expected. No need to hold on longer, to be sure, nothing but an unceremonious and abrupt end as the weight in his arms vanished. Just the clink of crystal on stone and only the sound of his own tense breathing to fill the silence that followed it.
There was the brief flash of satisfaction and then—nothing. The furious heat still beat in his chest, the anger hardly assuaged by his victory. The old phantom of a grudge long-held would not lay itself to rest that easily.
He pushed himself off of his knees, leaned back on his heels. Stared long and hard at the shard glittering on stone. But he couldn’t seem to make his hand reach for it. Instead he absently brushed at his arm, flinched at the sudden sting as fingers disturbed fresh knife wounds. He glanced down to find blood reddening his fingertips and his arm fielding a number of uneven, frantic cuts.
And it seemed to snap him back to reality. His head jolted up and he cast his gaze around him. Found the immediate area well clear of people, but there were still those brave or stupid enough to stay and watch the scene unfold from the periphery. What the hell had he been thinking?
He needed to get up. Needed to get out of here.]