'He used the butterflies to poison them… and then finished them off?'
Heinz's eyes widened as he watched the small, blue creatures flutter lazily around Florian—glowing faintly in the dim light, innocent, beautiful, deadly.
Their wings glimmered like glass, the faint trails they left behind almost serene, as if the massacre moments ago had never happened.
Florian stood among the bodies, motionless.
He didn't look afraid.
He didn't look remorseful either.
And Heinz… he wasn't sure if he wanted him to be.
He didn't want to see guilt in those eyes—not for killing the men who had tried to take him.
Not for surviving.
But even as Florian stood tall, there was a tremor in his frame—subtle, almost invisible. His shoulders shook, whether from adrenaline or something deeper Heinz couldn't tell.
The room still stank of blood and iron, of fear and smoke. The walls flickered under the glow of dying torches.
