The silence inside the room stretched longer than Jason expected. The torch on the wall burned low now, casting long shadows that danced like restless ghosts across the cracked stone. Jason sat with his back against the wall, legs folded, his fingers curled tightly around the small arrow he'd tucked into his sleeve earlier. Its sharp tip rested against his wrist.
He glanced at it again, for what must have been the tenth time in the past few minutes.
It would've been easy.
Quick.
One clean jab in the right spot, and Gorr would be gone. No more questions. And Jason would live—maybe. Maybe the door would open. Maybe the thing would be satisfied.
But then what?
He stared at Gorr, who sat across from him on the floor, legs outstretched, his eyes were closed, head tilted back against the stone wall. But Jason knew he wasn't asleep. No one could sleep now.
He looked like a boulder resting after a long fall—scarred, dented, but still somehow whole.
Jason's jaw tightened.
