Chapter 12: Deadly Mistake
Dylan accepted her words like a dagger plunged into the heart. His gaze remained fixed on Élisa's back, following her mechanical steps as the stench of death, now far behind them, slowly faded.
He murmured, almost without realizing it:
"That woman... she's been through hell."
Not that he didn't know what hell looked like. He'd had a taste of it too. But Dylan had that deeply human habit of downplaying his own pain to better carry the weight of others'.
He'd seen his world collapse. Literally. Continents pulverized, oceans blackened, skies ripped apart by war. Billions of innocents swept away like dry leaves in a storm. All because of stupid conflicts, started by hands once friendly. A war born of fear, fed by pride, and fueled by hatred that didn't even need enemies to survive.
And he—caught in the middle.
Lost.
Shattered.
But alive.
So yeah, he knew what it meant to suffer. But what that woman had been through... that was a different category. Another type of nightmare. More intimate. More visceral.
He lowered his gaze, his boots crunching wet leaves.