He turned toward the tall window, sunlight casting sharp angles across his face. In profile, he looked older, carved from stone and shadow. "You want to know what Night really is, Dred?"
"He's hope. He's the person who shows up when no one else will. When the empire fails its people, when the nobles turn their backs, when commanders like you decide that some lives matter less than others—that's when Night appears."
Dred felt like he was drowning in quicksand, every attempt to find solid ground only pulling him deeper.
"The emperor's orders—" he started desperately.
"The emperor's orders aren't gospel." Vyne's reflection in the window looked haunted, carrying burdens far heavier than his years should allow.
"They're just words from a man who's never known what it feels like to be powerless, to be hunted, to watch people you care about suffer because of laws written by people who've never suffered themselves."
