I stared at him blankly, the words echoing in my mind as if spoken in a distant dream. Had he really said it?
"I saw your death…" he murmured—a disjointed confession barely audible over the heavy silence that followed between us.
The chill of his admission seemed to seep into my very soul. For a long moment, I could not move, my heart pounding against my ribcage as though it were trying to break free. Was this the reason for his betrayal? His tone, pained yet resigned, cut through the haze of my disbelief.
"What are you talking about?" I demanded at last, my voice wavering between anger and incredulity. Was he fabricating this tale so that I might somehow come to trust him again?
He met my gaze with eyes that shimmered with a sorrowful intensity—a confession without pretense. "I did what I did," he said, his tone bare and pained.
