Ares pinched the bridge of his nose, his expression weary. "Must we repeat this?"
Eleanor scoffed with disdain. "What are you talking about?" But as she truly looked at him, her anger boiled over. His nonchalance was a slap in the face, a complete reminder that her pain was hers alone.
What was she thinking, expecting empathy from him? He was no saint, simply a ruthless vampire who hadn't participated in the massacre. His innocence was a technicality, not a testament to his character.
Eleanor's disappointment was clear. She shook her head. "No, we're not." With that, she jumped off the bed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Ares' eyes lingered on the closed door, his sigh heavy with frustration. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, his guilt eating away at him like a festering wound. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly lost.
"Nyx," he whispered, his voice muffled by his hands.
