She dropped to her knees in utter defeat, her hands trembling as tears streamed down her face. She struggled to form words.
Watching the scene I'd created, part of me felt something—maybe guilt. But the rest of me knew this was necessary.
"You lied—you tricked me… I thought you were on my side. How long weren't you?!"
Her voice cracked between sobs. She wasn't angry at me, not really. She was angry at herself—for trusting me.
She gripped her hair, shaking with frustration. She already knew the truth: there was nothing she could do now.
Betraying your division and getting caught is one of the worst things that can happen.
And I'd pushed her into it—gently, indirectly—even though she initially didn't want to.
But keeping her around had become too risky.
As I turned to leave, I felt her hand grip my arm. A burst of panic, maybe desperation.
When I looked into her eyes, I expected rage. Instead, I saw something else—regret. Sadness.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please… don't."
No excuses. No lies. No mental gymnastics.
She knew none of it would work on me.
I pulled my arm away.
"Sorry," I said flatly.
Before I walked out, she said something that stuck with me.