Elara flinched. The words were brutal. But she didn't look away.

"It is the easy way out," Marcus said. "And no one would blame you."

He lowered one finger.

"Or," Marcus said. "Choice two."

"You stand up."

He leaned forward.

"You walk out of this cell. You breathe the air outside. You eat. You sleep."

"It will hurt," Marcus warned. "It will hurt every single day. You will miss him every time you close your eyes."

"But you will live."

Elara stared at him. Her lips parted slightly.

"You can find a better life," Marcus said. "Not the one you planned with Thomas. That life is gone."

"But a new life. A different life."

"Why?" Elara whispered. "Why bother?"

"Because Thomas died trying to give you that chance," Marcus said.

He pointed at the corpse.

"He fought for you. He crawled across this floor with broken ribs for you."

Marcus's voice grew intense.

"If you die here, his sacrifice means nothing. His fight was for nothing."

"Do you want to make his death meaningless?"

Elara looked down at Thomas.

She remembered him standing in front of Snake. She remembered him taking the blows.

He had tried to protect her. Until his last breath.

"No," Elara whispered. "No."

"Then live," Marcus said. "That is how you honor him. By surviving."

Elara nodded slowly. It was a jerky, painful movement.

She wiped her face with her sleeve. It smeared the dirt, but her eyes were clearer.

She looked at Marcus. She looked at his clean cloak.

She looked at the open door.

A new emotion flickered in her eyes. It wasn't hope. It was confusion. And anger.

"You freed everyone," Elara said.

She gestured to the hallway. To the silence where the screams had been.

"You opened the gates. You took out the guards."

She looked at him with accusation.

"You are strong," she said. "You have power."

Marcus stiffened. He knew what was coming.

"If you are so strong," Elara asked, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you do it before?"

She pointed a shaking finger at him.

"Why did you wait?" she cried. "If you had done this yesterday, Thomas would be alive!"

"Why did you let him die?"

The accusation hung in the air. It was heavy and toxic.

Marcus felt the guilt slam into him.

It wasn't rational guilt. He knew that. He hadn't had the power yesterday.

But emotionally? It hit the mark.

He looked at her. He didn't defend himself. He didn't get angry.

He just looked sad.

"I am not strong," Marcus said softly.

He held up his hands. They were shaking slightly.

"Look at me, Elara. I am not a warrior. I am not a mage."

"But the guards..." she stammered.

"I didn't defeat them," Marcus admitted. "I had help."

He thought of Ventessa. He thought of the bear.

"I was just like you," Marcus said. "I was terrified. I was weak."

He lowered his hands.

"I was dragged to a noble's dungeon. I was tortured. I barely escaped with my life."

Elara's eyes widened. She saw the exhaustion in his face. She saw the fear that still lingered in his eyes.

"I found someone strong by chance," Marcus explained. "She saved me. And I begged her to come back here."

He looked at Thomas's body.

"I wanted to come sooner," Marcus said. His voice was thick with regret. "I wanted to save everyone."

"But I was powerless. I am pathetically weak, Elara."

"I survived by luck. Not strength."

Elara stared at him. The anger drained out of her.

She saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn't a hero holding back. He was a survivor, just like her.

She slumped against the wall.

"Luck," she muttered bitterty. "You had luck. We didn't."

"Yes," Marcus agreed. "That is the cruelty of it."

Silence stretched between them again.

Elara picked at the hem of her torn dress. Her mind was racing.

She processed everything. From the way he dressed, talked and carried himself from the start of their journey.

Although it wasn't like those typical nobles, but it was too refined for a commoner as well

He was definitely a noble.

He had powerful friends. He had resources.

A dark spark lit up in her eyes.

"You are a noble, right?" Elara asked.

"Yes," Marcus said. "I am a Viscount's son."

"A Viscount," she repeated.

She looked up at him. Her expression had changed.

The grief was still there. But it was hardening into something sharp.

"You are a good person," Elara said. "You came back for us."

She crawled forward. She grabbed his cloak.

"Help me," she said. Her voice was intense.

"Help me get revenge."

Marcus blinked. "Revenge?"

"Against them," Elara hissed. "The bandits. The merchant. The ones who run this place."

Her grip tightened on his fabric.

"They killed Thomas. They ruined everything."

"I want them to pay," she said. "I want them to suffer like he suffered."

She looked at Marcus with burning eyes.

"You have a powerful friend. You have a title."

"Use it," she begged. "Help me kill them all."

Marcus looked at her. He saw the poison taking root.

Revenge.

It was a powerful motivator. It could pull someone out of depression.

But it was a trap.

"Elara," Marcus said gently. He placed his hand over hers.

"Revenge won't bring him back."

"I don't care!" Elara shouted. "I want justice!"

"That isn't justice," Marcus said. "That is vengeance."

"What is the difference?" she spat.

"Justice restores balance," Marcus said. "Vengeance just creates more pain."

He looked at her kindly.

"Listen to me," Marcus said. "I know how you feel. You want to burn the world down."

"But revenge is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."

"It will consume you," he warned. "It will turn you into something hard and cold. Something Thomas wouldn't recognize."

Elara pulled her hand away. She glared at him.

"So I should just let them get away with it?" she asked. "I should just forgive them?"

"No," Marcus said. "You don't have to forgive. You never have to forgive."

"But you shouldn't make your life about them."

He sighed. He rubbed his temples.

He was conflicted.

Part of him agreed with her. Voss deserved to die. The bandits deserved to rot.

But he couldn't lead this broken woman down a path of blood. She wasn't built for it.

And he couldn't promise what he couldn't deliver.

"And besides," Marcus added softly. "I told you. I am weak."

"I am a noble, yes. But not one with much power."

"My family is small. My influence is... limited."

He gestured to himself.

"I can't raise an army. I can't hunt down a criminal syndicate."

"If we go after them now," Marcus said honestly. "We will just die. And then the last memory of Thomas dies with us."

Elara stared at him. Her shoulders slumped.

The fire of revenge flickered and died, suffocated by reality.

She knew he was right. She was a baker's wife. He was... maybe a runaway noble from the looks of it.

They weren't heroes. They were prey that got away.

"So that's it?" she whispered. "They win?"

"They don't win if you live," Marcus said.

He leaned closer.

"If you live a good life. If you find happiness again. That is how you beat them."

"They wanted to break you," Marcus said. "They wanted to turn you into a product."

"By surviving, by being human... you defy them."

Elara looked down at her hands. She opened and closed her fists.

"I don't know how to live again," she admitted. "Not without him."

"You don't have to know yet," Marcus said. "You just have to start."

He stood up. He brushed the straw from his knees.

He held out his hand to her.

"Come with me," Marcus said.

Elara looked at his hand. It was open. Waiting.

"Where?" she asked.

"Away from here," Marcus said. "To the Northeast. To my home."

"I can give you a place to stay," he promised. "Food. Safety. Time to heal."

"I can't promise revenge," Marcus said firmly. "That comes later. Much later. Or maybe never."

"But I can promise you a chance to recover."

"First, we grieve," Marcus said. "Then we heal. Then we learn to live again."

"Will you come?"

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