Chapter 19: The Blood That Stays
The room had fallen into a silence that felt both heavy and sacred.
Miles sat beside Daniel’s hospital bed. The remnants of the brutal confrontation still clung to his clothes—blood on his hands, smears on his jacket, bruises on his knuckles. The faint beep of the monitor was the only sound.
Daniel watched him.
This wasn’t the boy Elena had once described. This was something else. Something forged in fire and violence. And yet... something heartbreakingly human remained.
Miles didn’t look up. He spoke softly, as if reciting a confession to the walls.
"I was seven," he said. "When I first got blood on my hands."
Daniel blinked.
"I tried to wash it off for days. Weeks maybe. It wouldn’t go. Not with water. Not with soap. I could still see it... still smell it. I was terrified."
His fingers curled into fists slowly, the blood cracking around his knuckles.
"I took a life, Daniel. A man. They said he had killed families. Bombed villages. Left children like me with no homes, no parents. But that didn’t make it easier back then. I cried every night."
He finally looked up. There were no tears—but there was pain.