Cain slowly regained some focus in his eyes, and he turned them toward the only form standing over him.
His face was lax, without expression, his heart too tired to feed his now dull emotions. But that didn't prevent Daemon from pointing his gun at the only healthy arm of Cain, before pressing the trigger and tearing apart the nerve cluster in the armpit with one last a bullet, leaving Cain with only one limb intact: his right leg.
Daemon's eyes went to Cain's, whether to look for acceptance, pain, or regret within his eyes. Only he would know what he really tried to find, but that was the only thing he did.
Daemon made no further move, and Cain didn't react, his body already under lockdown as a protection mechanism.
After a deep look, Daemon didn't linger. He turned back and traced his steps as he went to the door.
The same path, the same unhurried pace, the same disregard.
