"Hero Association might've sent someone from the middle ranks, if I'm guessing right..."
Cruxius's thoughts paced alongside him as he moved through the hollow corridor of the train. Dim lights flickered above, casting the metallic walls in stuttering gold. His boots clicked against the blood-smeared floor, leaving dark half-prints behind—footsteps of the orchestrator, not a participant.
Hands deep in the pockets of his coat, he walked like a man with nothing to fear. Because he didn't.
Ytrisia and Darithi were ahead, and if any poor soul from the Association had dared step into their reach—well, they weren't walking out whole. Darithi didn't know restraint. Ytrisia sometimes remembered to care.
He inhaled the coppery scent of aftermath. Then—
"Haah... So, is this done, girls—"
He pushed open the door and stopped. The words died in his throat. Dead silence.
