Chapter 23: Mother’s Milk
In the dwell, Milo the Butcher reigned with dulled axe and fists. He carved up lives for money. They called him the Butcher because he cut clean, without remorse.
But everything changed the day someone slipped one name into his hands.
Just another target, he thought—the ex-wife of a politician, now begging in a dwell with two starving kids.
She had nothing left. Not even the pension they had promised her.
When he first saw her, she was just a poor woman—but her eyes... her eyes weren’t afraid.
He saw resignation in them, yes, but also disgust. Not for him—no, for the whole goddamn world.
That night, Milo came home with clean hands for the first time in years.
The politician was found two days later, his throat slit in his office.
Milo vanished, like a ghost too tired to keep haunting the living.
He fled to Duraand, a city wedged between the industrial East and Kovalia’s military lands.