Ace's POV
The wagon groaned beneath our weight as we settled onto the weathered bench, its wood rough against my palms. The horses snorted plumes of mist into the cooling air, their muscles twitching beneath dark coats before pulling us forward. Ray sprawled beside me, his mud-caked boots propped carelessly on the wagon's edge, while Chief Gareth sat stiff as a board between us.
Ray broke the silence first, his voice stripped of its usual playful edge. "I... might've lost control back there." He turned his hands over in the moonlight, studying the dried blood caked beneath his nails. His fingers trembled slightly before curling into fists. "But when I saw those bandits suffer—when I thought about what they did to those merchants, those travelers…" His jaw worked, the muscle jumping along his cheekbone. "Torturing them felt like justice. Like they deserved to pay."
