Grief was a living thing that had taken residence within Lara's chest, coiling around her heart like a serpent made of thorns and regret. It pulsed with every heartbeat, whispered accusations with every breath, and painted Jake's final moments across the backs of her eyelids each time she blinked. The loss was so profound it threatened to hollow her out completely, leaving nothing but an empty shell decorated with silky black hair and blood-stained clothes.
But Lara was no stranger to death's cruel arithmetic. Years of experience as a chosen had taught her alot—that in this profession, loss was not an exception but an inevitability. She had watched comrades fall before, had closed the eyes of friends whose names she carried like weights in her memory. The grief was familiar territory, even if it never grew easier to navigate.
