Megan's hands trembled — not from fear, but from pure, unfiltered desperation. Her arms spread protectively, blocking Garron from getting through.
Garron hesitated, his grip on the sword tightening. He had never seen a woman weep like that — loud, broken, desperate… like her soul was bleeding through her tears.
Around him, the other mercenaries couldn't bear to watch. Some turned their heads. A few clenched their jaws, and several blinked fast against the tears they didn't understand — didn't even know they were capable of. Others stared at the ground, guilt hanging over them like fog.
Still… an order was an order.
Disobedience meant death. Either Orion died — or Garron did.
With a single, practiced movement, Garron knocked the spear from Megan's grip. It fell to the blood-soaked earth with a dull clatter, its sound lost in the charged silence.
Megan dropped to her knees, hands clasped in pleading.
