Zubair didn't like conversations that lingered in his head long after they were done.
Words were meant to inform, to cut, to end things. Not to echo. Not to follow him through the hours like ghosts.
But Sera's words had done just that.
He sat alone in the penthouse's outer room, his knife in one hand and a whetstone in the other.
The repetitive scrape of steel on stone should have been enough to clear his thoughts. It usually was. Instead, each stroke seemed to carve the memory deeper.
There is no way you are human anymore.
She had said it so flatly, like a fact. Like gravity.
It was like she knew this fact as well as she knew that the sky had been blue before the end of the world.
He hadn't argued with her then.
Zubair wasn't one for wasting breath on denial.
